


Black Sheep - Scapegoat

by Prototype_UP77



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Parents, Binding Curse, Bullying, Dark Character, Explicit Language, Growing Up, Harry Potter Next Generation, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Late threesome, Light Masochism, M/M, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Rough Sex, Study of Ancient Runes (Harry Potter), slightly dark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:47:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 24
Words: 117,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27682433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prototype_UP77/pseuds/Prototype_UP77
Summary: Albus Potter grows up a disadvantaged child with a penchant for darkness, but luckily there is Scorpius Malfoy. As they become friends (and more), their intimate relationship is put to the test several times. Initial victories expose paths that soon decide far more than their own fates. Finally, Draco's secrets are dragged to the table and destroy not only Harry's life.Translation from german. This story is finished and will be updated regularly.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter
Comments: 23
Kudos: 52





	1. A letter saves the day

**Author's Note:**

> I have now decided to publish all parts of Black Sheep merged into a single project.  
> This has the advantage that it won't be quite so confusing and the timeline will be coherent - besides the fact that it will be a bit more diversified when now and then a different protagonist appears.
> 
> With 'White Dragon' I had already uploaded a chapter of the spin-off, which I have now added to the story. You can now find Harry's chapter as the tenth chapter of Black Sheep.
> 
> I apologize for the confusion - but maybe it really makes things a little nicer.
> 
> (However, this also means that warnings like 'rough sex' or 'light masochism' come into play much later.)

Albus Potter has been standing on the playground for a while now, his cheeks colored pink by the clinking cold wind, staring motionlessly at the other boy sitting on a bench and, in the faint light of the winter sun, seeming unreal, as if he were a faded memory. He reads concentratedly in a book, so that he has not noticed Albus so far. His ears are intensely reddened; their luminosity outshines the otherwise neat, bright picture of Scorpius Malfoy in an irritating dissonance, as if two photos had been pasted over each other that have nothing in common. The gray eyes, wandering nervously across the lines, have widened in a surprised fascination. Albus watches as the wind grabs one of the dull yellow pages and long fingers smooth them, holding on to them without the eyes turning away from the words.

Lately, he has often wondered if he judged too hastily, that day after he went to school, when he slapped Scorpius' hand away and answered his offer of friendship with a sneering smile. Every time he sees James sitting at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, with ambiguous glances at Malfoy's lowered head, doubt invades his mind like roots digging into deeper layers of the earth. Every time Malfoy runs away crying because James has poured milk or whatever in his face and all the students in the Great Hall burst out laughing. Or when Mr. Malfoy picks him up for the vacations, smiling proudly, puts both hands on his son's narrow shoulders, and the tortured numbness in his pretty face slowly melts away like a layer of ice. Until Scorpius laughs happily as the relieving thought pours into his head that he can finally leave school for a few weeks.

The doubts accompany Albus. Not because he feels responsible for Scorpius being tormented by his brother James (although he knows he is, of course), but because he knows the feeling, this uncertainty, of whether you can get through the day unharmed and untroubled. He knows what it is like to be alone - although he doesn't mind, because he, Albus, doesn't cry over such trivialities. At least not as much as Scorpius. And certainly not in front of other children. Scorpius is like an immature, raw version of himself. Besides, Scorpius has liked him since first grade, but Albus didn't know if he wanted him - he's always been alone.

That's why Albus never lets go of the thought of him.

Scorpius strokes a blond curly lock behind his ear, which is pointless, because another gust of wind promptly grabs it and strikes it against his cheek once more. Albus averts his gaze and lets it wander across the empty schoolyard.

Actually, students shouldn't stay here when the class is over, but sometimes they don't stick to it. So far, they have always gotten away, because it is easy to sneak away behind the greenhouses along the wall. Despite the rule, Scorpius often stays here. Probably he would rather be caught by a teacher than sit around in the common room with James and hope to be left alone.

A crooked smile buries itself in Albus' cheeks. He imagines himself walking over to the bench, confident and friendly, grinning and reaching out his hand. "I was such a fool when I didn't want to be your friend. I'm really sorry," he would say. And Scorpius would smile and take his hand and then they would be friends. They would fight together against James and finally be superior to him and his stupid buddies.

Scorpius turns the pages and reads on, frowning as if the contents of the book were beginning to overwhelm him. Albus' fingernails dig into the bark of the tree he is leaning against. He shifts the weight from one leg to the other. And although he is certain of it, he does not go to Scorpius. It is as it always is. He swallows against the fear that slams his throat, yet he feels as if it had paralyzed him long ago.

That day would have been his last chance to correct his mistake before the Christmas vacations begin and the parents bring their children home. By this time tomorrow, Scorpius would be home already, in freedom, while Albus would have to leave the peace he enjoys at Hogwarts behind to pretend to be happy to be at his home.

While Albus ponders whether his father would give up if he simply stayed in his common room, his gaze is lost between the gnarled, defoliated branches of the tree and the steel-gray sky. Perhaps it would be too silly for him to ask Professor Slughorn to get Albus out. He could hide in the old bookcase in the corner. James would probably persuade Dad to just leave him there. And then he would be released for two weeks.

"Have you been standing there for long?" whispers Scorpius' trembling voice and Albus flinches. "I know it's none of my business, but..."

"Yes, I mean, no," Albus stutters.

Scorpius stands before him and looks down, but every now and then his gaze flickers over to Albus. He has clamped the book under his armpit, his red frozen fingers bent around the cover as if the dark leather would give him support.

Albus recalls that Scorpius was more confident before he clashed with James and became his favorite victim because Albus, as Slytherin, is no longer available to him. Guiltily, he looks at the boy's stooped figure, at his trembling lips and curses his big mouth once more. If he hadn't told James that Scorpius wanted to be his friend, he probably would have just ignored him and kept picking on him, Albus.

"I - Um. I'm sorry -" Albus begins and interrupts himself when he realizes that he won't be able to produce a decent sentence. He senses that his face is heated despite the cold and knows that he looks stupid, how he pushes around and gets red.

Scorpius says nothing and pulls his lips together to a line, but he doesn't leave, even though he could. He just stands there and stares at Albus' hands, his face also turns terribly red.

To put an end to this horrible situation, Albus swallows, once, twice, until he can trust his voice again. Then he summons up his courage, ignores his rapidly booming heart and finally speaks it out. "I'm sorry I was so stupid and didn't want to be your friend." Although Scorpius still doesn't say anything and doesn't show that he has heard him, Albus reaches out his hand.

_If he doesn't take it, I want to sink into the ground_. Still no reaction. Gradually his arm becomes heavy and tired. _Besides, then I have to push James off the tower_. Albus perseveres, even though the pulse is beating in his ears and the urgent need to get into bed and never come out again makes his stomach bubble. And at some point Scorpius begins to giggle.

"Never mind, forget it," Albus hisses gloomily and the corners of his mouth move down, while Scorpius puts his hand in front of his mouth and his shoulders are shaken by half-stifled laughter. "It won't happen again that I'm nice to you."

Angry and disappointed, Albus turns around and puts the now ice-cold hand under his armpit. As he leaves the playground with quick steps, he notices with satisfaction that the laughter has died down.

* * *

The vacations are worse than Albus expected.

He sits at the richly laid table, staring blankly at the drippings of sauce left on his plate from dinner, and listens with half an ear as James talks about Quidditch and how he and his Gryffindor buddies got caught making it rain in class. When he is reprimanded for this, Albus rolls his eyes, for he can hear the badly whitewashed pride in his father's voice.

"I can hardly wait to finally join the Quidditch team! Then I'll make sure James doesn't do so much nonsense with the people on the team," announces Lily, her arms crossed in front of her chest. She tries to give her older brother a sinister look, but because she's generally a happy child, she doesn't quite succeed, and when James sticks out his tongue, she grins and retaliates with a grimace.

"Really, you should behave better when you're expecting Christmas presents," his mother scolds seriously and looks over the table to her husband, who grins and shoves a slice of roast into his mouth. "This year, Mom and Dad are in Romania, so we're not visiting them until next week. But Hermione has already invited us to her party. She says that Ron whines all the time because he got so badly ill and can't stand all these people," she says and laughs.

"That's typical Ron again," his father replies and joins in the laughter.

Albus leans his head on the palm of his hand and tries to suppress the rage that sometimes haunts him when he hears the voice of this man, his father, who should be proud of him. He promised him before Albus boarded the Hogwarts Express for the first time. "It doesn't matter to us, Al," he said, and Albus, believing him, went to Slytherin (out of nervousness, mainly because he failed to formulate a clear thought, especially not to convince the Sorting Hat of anything), and after that his father and he suddenly didn't get along with each other anymore. Once his mother sat down on the edge of his bed and tried to talk to him about it, but later he realized that it was of no use. "He loves you anyway, but he does not know how to talk to you."

In fact, Albus still doesn't know how to talk to his father, so he lets it be most of the time. He got used to being taciturn and grumpy long enough to keep his mouth shut at Hogwarts. With the difference that he is at least left in peace at school.

"Albus still cannot fly. The other day I saw him practicing and he crashed against Hagrid's hut," James shouts with a mean grin on his face. Lily giggles, but looks guiltily over at Albus.

"Well, you can't do everything," his father replies calmly, but looks at James. With an uneasy feeling in his stomach, Albus wonders why he should expect to be talked to instead of about him.

"But it's a shame that Albus can't do anything. He's just a Slytherin," continues James. "You can't expect anything from them."

Cutlery bangs on dishes, and everyone at the table flinches, staring at Harry Potter, who has suddenly turned completely pale in the face and looks at James with an angry stare. James swallows several times and the shock is clearly visible to him, but Albus cannot be happy about it.

"Don't you ever dare to talk like that again, James Sirius Potter," Harry glances across the table. "There were and are very brave people who have been in Slytherin and who have done far more than you! That arrogance doesn't suit you."

James stares silently at the tabletop with his mouth open, and the blush, which spreads in spots on his neck, fills Albus with a clandestine malicious joy, for it is usually he who blushes and is also laughed at by James for it.

"Don't you think you're being a bit too hard on him, Harry?", his mother asks quietly. Albus suppresses a deep sob and stares dully at his plate, pushing back with all his might the thought that she should be defending him. "After all, we named one of our children after a Slytherin - and we have told the story of Severus Snape at least five hundred times. That's all we can do to show them that their prejudices are wrong. Time will do the rest."

"Fine," says James, instantly confident as usual. "Then it's not because he's a Slytherin. I'm sorry, Dad."

Albus' fingernails claw into the smooth fabric of the tablecloth as he laboriously tries to flick away the tears that blur the faces of his family. Their contours merge and a sharp pain runs through his neck. His father's voice sounds muffled as he answers and Albus can' t understand a word, so loud is the pulse in his ears.

Before he can suppress the impulse, he stands up. The chair scrapes backwards across the parquet floor with a noise that sounds like a loud groan, and when the tears fall rich and full onto his cheeks, his gaze clears. Everyone stares at him. He sees the smirking on James' face and knows that he will make sure Albus never forgets this day, but he also notices the anxiety in his mother's features. Although he is glad that she at least notices him, he can hardly bear both at the moment.

"I'm going to bed," says Albus, and to his own amazement his voice sounds hard and unbroken.

* * *

As soon as Albus has locked the door behind him, he hears heavy footsteps on the parquet floor of the hallway and a second later the handle is pushed down. Desperately he holds his hands in front of his eyes and hopes that he can be alone for just a moment.

"Albus? Open the door," calls his father and rattles the handle once more. "You know that won't stop me."

Wordlessly Albus lets his hands sink. It would be pointless to pretend that he can't hear - and apart from that, the thought of it is absolutely childish. Nevertheless, he casts a lengthy, yearning glance at his bed, which stands freshly made under the window and looks comfortingly cuddly, before he reaches for the key and turns it in the lock.

Contrary to his expectations, the door is opened quietly and gently. Even his father's movements seem deliberate to him. Maybe, not to frighten him, Albus thinks and bites his cheek. As if he were a little baby.

"This has clearly gone too far," Harry says quietly, scratching his neck, apparently nervous, "It's not easy to do justice to two such different boys, Albus. I don't want your brother to feel intimidated if I intervene too often. But I don't want you to feel bad either, because he picks on you." He looks around and then drops himself on the chair in front of the desk. "Unfortunately, the dosage isn't working as well yet." The look out of the green eyes is similar to the one Albus himself has often seen in the mirror lately, when he practices not to look so grim anymore, so as not to scare off possible friends in advance.

With a numb feeling in his stomach, Albus turns around and gazes at the reflection of his room in the window, which looks like a dream image and stands out, blurred and indistinct, from the deep black of the evening. He bites his tongue and tries to stop the words that come out of his mouth.

"Of course I want you to be fine," Harry continues. His voice sounds rough and tired and in the window Albus watches as he puts his elbows on his legs and lets his head hang down. "Tell me what I can do."

"Please leave me alone until I'm allowed to go back to Hogwarts." The words burst out of Albus' mouth without him having a chance to stop them. Slowly, he turns his head and looks at his father whose eyebrows furrow.

"Albus..."

"You asked. That is my answer," Albus whispers.

When Harry stands up wordlessly and leaves the room, Albus is sure that it is a hurt expression that has been laid on his features. Although he feels like crying again, he smiles. The tears only flow when he throws himself on the bed and presses his head into the soft pillow.

* * *

It will be another day before Albus gets on the train to Hogwarts and can cast off that gloomy mood that lies over him like a second skin as long as he is surrounded by his family. To his boundless surprise, his father respects his wish and leaves him alone, and yet he feels absolutely useless.

Albus lies on his bed in his sleeping clothes in the afternoon (why should he get dressed?), stares at the ceiling and wonders why he is so eager to talk to anyone. Sure, people talk all the time, but Albus has lived with the knowledge that he is meant to be alone. He puts the pillow on his face and takes a deep breath, but only a second later he is sitting upright again and jumps out of bed.

As if by themselves, his legs carry him to the desk on which a letter to Scorpius, begun by him, lies. He looks down at it in consternation before he reaches for the parchment and crumples it up. Then he throws the letter into the trash. Satisfied, he shuffles back to his bed.

As if he was writing to this moron. He will certainly not sink that low.

He decides to take a midday nap so that he can rest and his thoughts would remain silent, so he closes his eyes, only to open them again a moment later. Annoyed and moaning, he hurries to his wastebasket and fished the crumpled letter out again. He smoothes it down and puts it back on his desk. Then he sticks out his tongue, rolls his eyes and taps to his bed. This time he lies still until he falls asleep.

* * *

When he opens his eyes again, the room lies in darkness before him. Albus stares into the night before leaning to the side and switching on the small bedside lamp. Confused, he looks at the alarm clock. Three o'clock in the morning. His heart takes a little jump when he realizes that he has slept through the last, terrible day before the beginning of his real life and will soon feel better. Smiling, he straightens up before he freezes.

The door is a crack wide open. Albus stares at the banister that shimmers freshly polished in the light of his lamp. He is sure that he has closed the door behind him, but has he locked it? With a heart beating in fear, he remembers the letter he wrote to Scorpius in the afternoon and rescued from his wastebasket. If James read it -

All of a sudden he is on his feet and rushes over. Then he exhales with relief. The letter is still there, just as he left it. However, a bulky looking, thick envelope lies on top of it, closed by a seal. The paper feels silky at his fingertips as he picks it up. It is as heavy as it looks. Full of curiosity, he locks the door and hurries to his bed, only then he tears it open and breaks the seal without looking at it closely.

The envelope contains a heavy sheet of skin-colored parchment, tightly written with large, accurate letters, and exuding the numbing scent of some flowers. Albus wrinkles his nose and grins. Like the love letters Dad still gets after all these years.

In the firm belief that his mother had accidentally placed it on his desk, he turns the envelope in his hands and looks at it more closely. Albus Severus Potter. He raises his eyebrows and begins to read.

_Dear Albus,_

_I am very sorry that I laughed at you when you talked to me and offered me your friendship. You have to believe me that I wished that, still. I was very surprised by this because you didn't seem to stutter or even talk to anyone at school._

_It was so stupid that I laughed! I wanted to say yes!_

_It took me a long time to write this letter because I was afraid. You were so angry at the schoolyard that I'm still afraid that you will never be nice to me again. I just hope now that I can make it up to you. My father always says never to apologize when I don't have to, but I think I have to now._

Smiling, Albus pauses and reads the last sentence again. Perhaps he should let Mr Malfoy adopt him.

_Once again, I am sorry. I really want to be your friend and I hope we can meet and talk at Hogwarts, as friends!_

_I wish I was in Slytherin, too. Then we could go to all the classes together. But I am not allowed to put on the Sorting Hat again, although I ask every year. Professor McGonagall says it's against the rules. Unfortunately, she won't budge even if my father asks her to. He thinks it's weird that I'm in Gryffindor and I feel the same way! At home I always have to pretend to be a Slytherin when my grandpa Lucius comes to visit, because otherwise he would get too upset. It's really annoying!_

_I hope you forgive me._

_I'll see you soon,_  
_Scorpius_

With a dusky feeling in his head, probably caused by the strange perfume and relief, he slowly lets himself sink backwards onto his bed. The page rustles softly as he puts it on his chest and presses it against himself with a grin.

He doesn't know if he will survive his school days without going mad, but he knows that at least he won't be alone again.

As long as Scorpius' strange floral perfume doesn't poison him first. Although Albus makes a face, he keeps the letter in his arms.


	2. Lucky charms, conversations and an approximation

Albus spends the remaining hours before the end of the vacation sitting with packed suitcases on the large cream-colored couch in the living room, combing his long hair with nervous fingers so that it lies straight on his head, unlike his brother's. His gaze goes nowhere, but every now and then he digs the letter, which looks more and more worn out every time out of his pants pocket.

He is not spoken to, but that does not bother him. Normally he would avoid the danger of being teased by James once again, but he can't stand the quietness of his room. For Albus, the droning of silence that makes time seem endless is far worse than the remote possibility that his brother is nervous enough to dare to attack him again after yesterday's argument. In front of his mother sitting at the dining table with a newspaper and coffee. Surely she would wrestle her fingers overwhelmed and ask James to leave him alone.

At this thought, a scornful smile plucks at the corners of his mouth, and he pulls the letter out of his pocket once more to hide it behind. Albus knows how sensitive people in this house are to his grimaces; especially today he does not need people picking on his bad mood. As if that ever helped anyone.

When he unfolds it, particles of the less obtrusive scent penetrate his nose, and by now he likes it, although he has no idea what kind of perfume it is. His fingertips stroke over his name, which has been enthusiastically painted on the bow by Scorpius. Scorpius, his first and only friend.

He takes a deep breath, inhales the perfume and ignores the tickling of the hair tips on his neck, although a muscle in his index finger twitches, halfway through the process of stroking the hair away - but he doesn't want anyone to see him smile.

As he stares at the lines, he thinks of Scorpius' face, which seemed strangely unfitting to him before the break, with the almost too luxuriant pink lips and the large, gray eyes. He can almost grasp it, it is so present for him, and in his imagination a deep, rich red covers the skin, as it is in social situations just like that with him. Albus wonders if he ever saw Scorpius not being heated or ashamed.

Suddenly, the bow is torn from his hand, and the ultimacy with which his distraction is crushed makes Albus wince.

"Is this a letter from your girlfriend?", James mocks, grins suggestively and raises his eyebrows in an attempt to make a teasing face. "Oh, I forgot, even with pliers nobody would ever touch you." Without hesitation he turns to the letter instead of running to his room with his prey, knowing that no one in this house will stop him from humiliating Albus. " Since even Mom doesn't touch you anymore," he adds.

Besides the usual spark of anger, an unknown panic bubbles up in Albus' chest. Letting James read this letter would be social suicide. Basically he doesn't care, because nobody will be able to distinguish this new information from the lies his brother usually spreads about him. He doesn't care what such people think of him, but Scorpius might get treated worse than usual, and after all, they are friends now. His hands clench into fists, he tenses the muscles in his arms.

Albus sees it in front of him, how he will pull the letter down with one hand protecting it. James will continue to cling to it, certainly, leaving his face unprotected. Albus will then ram his fist in as hard as he can. On the edge he notices how he bares his teeth.

Just the blink of an eye, before Albus wants to pounce on James, the parchment sheet flutters past him with an emphatic rustling, straight into his mother's outstretched hands. The corners of her mouth are drawn down, and usually the disappointed expression in her eyes is for him alone. But today, for the first time, this look is directed at James, who seems upset and has not moved since she called the letter.

"I never want to see you take personal things away from your brother again to hurt him, James!" she hisses. The soft intonation makes her sound dangerous, and Albus has the feeling that James won't have a chance to squirm out of it again.

"But ... he has never received a letter," grumbles James and crosses his arms in front of his chest. "I wanted to know what it says and he won't tell me anyway -"

Her mother still hasn't put the wand away, and when she interrupts James, the tip seems to glow as if she can barely contain her magic. "And you cannot imagine why?"

James doesn't answer, but that's not necessary either. Everyone in this room knows the answer. "Sorry, Albus," he chokes out instead, and the words are ejected so hateful that they seem to cut into Albus' ear canal, then he turns and trots away.

His revenge will probably hit Albus hard, as he is usually left alone by his brother at Hogwarts, but to see him turn tail and sneak off like a beaten dog is worth every punch.

Uncertain, Albus looks at his mother, who holds the letter out to him without having looked at it, and an unwelcome flutter in his stomach makes him snort nervously. For a moment something unspoken hover between them, then Harry Potter's voice interrupts them: "Ginny, could you come into the kitchen, please?"

"Just a moment," she calls over her shoulder into the bright hallway, then she walks towards Albus. She presses the parchment to his chest and murmurs: "Perhaps it would be better if you didn't take it out until you are in Slytherin, Albus. I can't imagine that you would want anyone to see it." A smile spreads across her face, and she winks conspiratorially, as if there was a trusting relationship between them, as if they shared a secret.

Whatever misunderstanding makes them all think the letter is from a girl, Albus doesn't bother to clear it up. He can't imagine that his mother would still find his privacy worth protecting if she knew that it was a Malfoy who wrote to him.

* * *

The voices of his parents sound muffled, but easily understandable when Albus presses his ear against the cool wood of the door. Once again, he makes sure that no one is near the hallway before concentrating to eavesdrop on a conversation that strictly speaking is none of his business.

"Have you ever considered how the boys feel about you suddenly getting involved in their fights?" His father sounds impatient and moody; he talks to his mother in a tone of voice that no one else in this house is allowed to strike. " They must settle this among themselves! Our intervention will only make things worse - do you think James, if he feels unfairly treated, will accept that Albus is under your protection?"

"He may not accept it, but at least he doesn't feel he can do what he wants with Albus! You heard him at dinner before Christmas Day, he talks about him as if he were not there -"

"Yes, but Albus must assert his position with him himself! It is not possible that you just go and take that from him! Where will this end, Ginny?"

"Oh, a good question; perhaps that James finally learns that Albus is not his toy," his mother replies sarcastically, and Albus notices an ironic grin digging into his cheeks. "What are you so afraid of, anyway?"

"I don't know, maybe that you spoil Albus, that you teach him that he doesn't have to fight, that he doesn't have to worry about others not using him as a punching ball! He will never be able to do anything alone if you support him all the time! I never thought you would become such a hen!"

Albus puts his hand in front of his mouth to suppress the startled hiss that comes up from his chest, remembering that he is merely an unwelcome listener. He has suspected that the understanding conversation on Christmas Eve with his father was a pure farce, but that none of this is true, that everything is a lie, hits him unexpectedly hard.

He involuntarily asks himself whether he disappointed him so much with his request to let him wait in peace for the end of the vacations that his father changed his mind.

" _Of course I want you to be well_ ," he said. Albus vividly remembers this uncomfortable conversation.

"You just can't be serious, Harry!" his mother hisses angrily. The last blow obviously hit her and shattered her inner superiority. "A hen, me? I have watched James' behavior for far too long because you have always been in my ears telling me not to intervene, but I won't let you do it anymore! James needs rules, otherwise he'll become an arsehole of massive proportions, and then we'll definitely not be able to deal with it anymore!"

This is almost too good to be true. Albus nervously chews his lip.

"You won't let it happen again, huh?" Harry says calmly. It sounds as if he is slamming a cup on the table and scraping a chair loudly across the floor. "And what are you going to do? Threaten them and point your wand at them to make them be what you want them to be? The boys are good as they are. You can't change them to be more... comfortable."

"So we're back at that point again. Every time we have this discussion, you come along and say some bullshit - as if I wanted to protect Albus out of convenience. Be honest with yourself, just once - wouldn't it be much more comfortable not to care about it at all, as you would like to?"

"I do care! Otherwise, would I hope that Albus finally fights back? I know what it's like to stand up to the strongest."

"Right. Before, you not only knew that, but you did. Don't lie to yourself, Harry, in your school days, when you were this person, you would have taken Albus' side and protected him just like I just did. You would never have watched as an older, stronger boy, alone or with his friends, pounce on another to insult, beat and humiliate him again and again. No matter what house he is in."

Suddenly, silence falls on the other side of the door, and Albus wonders if they could have noticed him, but then his mother starts talking again. "Remember the first time Albus had a black eye? He was only six years old, and while I wasn't even sure James had done it on purpose, you wondered all along if this unfortunate story with Snape would repeat itself. You were even afraid for Albus' future."

Involuntarily, Albus grimaces as he remembers this first in a series of bruises. Why James and he had fought has been lost over time, but this experience has left its mark on both of them. Each of them has learned for themselves that there is no rule that forbids beating and that no punishment would ever take place. Probably there were plenty of other reasons why Albus became James' victim, but this situation definitely describes the beginning of the struggles.

"I was worried that he would become a person who had the whole world against him, Ginny, and then be seduced by black magic. That he would have more of Severus Snape than we ever wanted," Harry growls. "But the point is that Albus is growing up very differently, even though he is a Slytherin; he has all the possibilities, he knows the love of parents who usually share the same opinion, and he didn't have to go hungry or sleep in the closet under the stairs, so -"

"We are his parents, and if we don't want to help him, he has the whole world against him. As for the remainder: You don't learn to stand up to your siblings if no one cares about you - don't interrupt me, Harry! Unlike you, I grew up with it, and I had to stand up to several older boys at once, not just one! But without a healthy environment, and that includes knowing that there's someone there for you in case of an emergency, and even more, without support you don't learn assertiveness, you learn warfare!"

"You're exaggerating, you know that? _Warfare_ , how dramatic -"

"It's what I see, Harry. Albus must be careful every moment James is near him, for he never knows when he will strike. James doesn't even need a real reason; just now he thought he was concerned about what was in the letter Albus received. And because he would not have told him, he just had to steal it."

"Sure you didn't misunderstand? I mean, maybe they were fooling around before. You know how it is."

"I sat at the table and watched. Albus read his letter, and James tore it from his hands. He didn't speak to him, nor did he wait a moment for Albus to even notice him. I'm sorry, Harry, but if you don't believe me now, we've got much bigger problems."

"No, Ginny, I'm sorry ... I wasn't there, and it sounded as if something had preceded it."

"That's what I'm worried about. About both boys. Because nothing's happened before."

"Have I been fooling myself?", his father suddenly shouted in agony. He seems to run back and forth in the kitchen. "Are you sure these are not small fights between brothers?"

"It was never so bad and persistent in my childhood. And I grew up with twin brothers who took every opportunity to make fun of others. But Harry, not a day goes by here that Albus is not close to tears. Don't you really see that we as parents showed him at a very early age a world where he can never win and isn't even worth helping? I'm partly responsible, yes, but you can't blame me because I'm trying to make things a little better."

Apart from Christmas Eve dinner, Albus can't remember a single fight where he was close to tears, but hearing his mother talk about him in this way is just too good for him to keep hanging on to this misconception. Her trembling voice sounds as if he, Albus, really meant something to her, and that makes the lump in his throat swell again, while an incredulous joy paralyzes his chest.

Maybe his life will change from now on.

"I'm worried about James as well, to be honest. What if he then feels that we are leaving him alone," Harry asks tonelessly.

The urge to open the door and shake his father and shout the truth in his face becomes so strong that Albus bites his tongue and presses his fingernails into the wooden door. The tension makes his legs tremble.

"Do you feel like you're being left alone just because you're not allowed to ambush any civilians?" Ginny replies annoyed. "I love James too, but he can know and feel that at least I love Albus too. If you think that takes something away from James, it shows very clearly that you don't understand what a family is, Harry."

Albus' heart suddenly beats so loudly and violently that he cannot understand his father's mumbling.

"Then show him. Talk to him. And for Merlin's sake, Harry, teach him how to defend himself against James when we are not there. If it bothers you so much that he can't get through life on his own because I just helped him, you'll simply have to show him how he does it. You're his father."

Suddenly, Albus moves the chairs around. He stands up and pushes back into the living room on shaky legs, the parchment sheet pressed against his chest. He doesn't know what to feel, but the realization that all the arguments between James and him have finally led to something that feels like the beginning of a revolution loosens the chains that constrict his chest and finally lets him breathe again.

* * *

Albus pulls up his grandmother's scratchy sweater and unceremoniously slips Scorpius' letter behind the waistband of his shorts, so that he can feel that it is still there the whole time, because after everything that happened that day, it seems to him more than ever to be a good luck charm. Then he lets himself fall back onto the couch and leans the back of his head against the backrest as if he had never done anything but relax.

The kitchen door is opened and his father's heavy steps approach him.

"Albus, do you have a moment? I know you didn't actually want to talk to me anymore, but your mother told me what just happened," he says quietly as he stops behind Albus.

You probably mean that she has tried to roar reason into your mind, he thinks, presses the back of his head deeper into the cushion and looks up. His father has lowered his chin and seems to be looking for something specific in his face.

They are strikingly similar, Albus has the same green eyes and the raven-black hair of his father; the nose and the lips, he cannot deny it, even though he usually tries to hide it half-heartedly. At this moment he feels deepest shame for the first time when he looks into the trodden face of his father, because he can no longer tell himself that this is a strong man, one whom he can be similar to without feeling sorry for himself.

"I got time," Albus replies succinctly.

Harry walks around him and carefully sits down next to him, as if he could scare him off with all too rapid movements, a behavior that is always evident when he is alone with Albus. He folds his hands as if he is about to start praying and takes a breath. "It's hard to figure out the best way to say what I want to say to you, so please don't interrupt me."

Biting the inside of his cheek, Albus suppresses a snort. Based on this one sentence it is already obvious how difficult it will be for him not to interrupt his father. A promising introduction.

"Your brother," Harry begins after a pause and rubs the black stubble on his cheeks, "is a little out of line at the moment, I think. He's in a difficult phase; he'll be seventeen soon and ... Well, at that age we're all a bit quick-tempered. I'm sure he means no harm."

Without turning his head, Albus watches his father squirm from the corner of his eye. He crosses his arms in front of his chest and pulls his lip between his teeth, and everything inside of him is crying out not only to interrupt this torrent of hypocrisy, but to correct it. The mere fact that James is supposed to mean no harm seems like the greatest taunt to him.

"You're slowly approaching that age yourself, Albus. You are no longer a child either. But if you need your mother to defend you against James, it will only get harder. You must do it alone." He takes off his glasses and rubs them with his sleeve.

Albus inconspicuously pinches the skin of his forearm to fight against the need to break out into loud laughter. As if he had ever needed his mother! As if she had always helped him, and not just this once!

"You are not stupid, Albus. I know you have a lot on your mind, even more than James, because you've always thought so much. You must realize for yourself that it can't go on like this, and that he won't stop unless you show him that he can't keep doing this to you."

It would be easier for him if James wasn't so incredibly stupid. Eye-twisting, Albus rams his back into the cream-colored cushions, forgetting for a moment to cover up his frustration.

To his horror his father gurgles and puts his hand on his shoulder. "Oh dear, how could I have missed that you're already a real teenager?" He puts the glasses back on his nose.

Giving up the act, Albus wipes his father's warm hand away and jumps to his feet. Angrily, he stamps his foot on. "Well, how great for you that I'm a real teenager! You know what, Dad? I'm not in the mood for this bullshit anymore. James doesn't mean any harm? For real? I didn't think you were stupid either, but I guess that was a hopeless overestimation. Won't happen to me again!"

At first, his father blinks in his direction, as if it couldn't be foreseen that Albus might be annoyed when he defends James. Then he moves his mouth. "Why are you attacking me now? I tried to be as diplomatic as possible with you!"

"I honestly don't care how shitty James behaves and why," cries Albus and drives through his hair with cramped fingers, and he feels like he's going to throw up on the spot if he's not allowed to be on his own again soon. The pressure stretches his stomach and a dull pain spreads inside him. "I don't want to understand him, Dad, I just don't want to have to see him anymore. He can shove his dullness somewhere else as long as I don't have to have anything to do with it!"

His father jumps up, too, but instead of crossing his arms, he takes a step towards Albus, his hands raised, as if to signal to him that he is unarmed. "You are not supposed to understand him either, you are supposed to resist!"

Perhaps he could have held back if he had slept out. Or if he did not have to worry about James knowing who sent him the letter. If he hadn't been listening at the kitchen door. But now the scornful laughter drips out of him, and his father recedes as if he had slapped him in the face. He knows why, since Harry Potter, although striving to give the impression of accepting all people of all kinds, hates nothing more than that Albus shows him what really is inside him.

Unable to change anything about the situation, he drives the sting deeper into it. "And do something to your favorite child? We all know that he has fool's freedom only because he is like your father! Hermione told me; and I don't think you somehow understand that he isn't. Yeah, sure, attack James and risk being blamed for everything again, I haven't been that retarded in a long time!"

"Albus Severus Potter, you forget yourself," Harry hisses, his face distorted in rage. "Who do you think you're talking to? Do you even understand that I want to help you?" His hand is clenched into a fist, and it trembles with tension, and Albus knows that he should shut up now at the latest, so he swallows his anger, looks down and shakes his head.

Sheepishly Harry mumbles: "Um, well, I ...", but he doesn't say anything further. No matter what he would have said, he wouldn't have been able to reach Albus with it anyway.

The words float between them like whirled up dust, useless and forgettable, and Albus longs for his father to simply light the fireplace so he can grab his suitcases and return to Hogwarts. While the silence continues, he tries to use pure willpower to get him to open the gate from hell for him.

Eventually, Harry actually overacts his helplessness by reaching for his wand and silently igniting the logs in the fireplace. The flickering orange light washes over him and immerses him in hopeful warmth.

Despite his intention, Albus notices that he has forgotten Scorpius' letter all along, but now he can feel it again.

* * *

As he staggers out of the fireplace directly into the entrance hall of Hogwarts, he feels the slight pulling in his stomach and the exaggeratedly extended hug of his mother still on his skin.

(At farewell, she said, "I love you, Albus, I always have and I always will," and Albus found it extremely difficult not to grumble a ''Better late than never''. Instead, he replied and watched from the corners of his eyes as his father uncomfortably scratched his neck, which almost made him laugh.)

Gradually, his bad mood melts away under the thick carpet from the noise of hundreds of students who have chosen the entrance hall as their meeting place despite rules to the contrary, and the smell of damp sweaters that slowly begin to evaporate in the comfortable warmth. Obviously the Hogwarts Express has arrived in the meantime, because some of the black capes are soaked and stick to the chilled bodies of the students.

Carelessly pushing his suitcase to a large collection point next to the foot of the stairs, Albus looks around for the golden blond hair of Scorpius, who at the age of fourteen is already tall enough to stand out of the crowd, but is overwhelmed by everything; happy because he could tell his father his opinion; and yet still a little angry enough not to take anything, so he just stops next to his suitcase.

James comes by to put his suitcase down as well and bumps into Albus as he passes, but he doesn't stay with him any longer because he discovers one of his dull friends on the stairs and rushes towards him with sweeping steps. Albus doesn't want to fight back now of all times, because when Scorpius finds him, he wants to appear calm and aloof - at least like someone you want to be friends with, and not like a primeval person like James, who you'd better avoid before you get stuck in the same closet.

It doesn't take long until a tall, blond boy peels himself out of the crowd. He holds his head down, his cheeks reddened as usual, and as he approaches, he lashes up now and then, as if to make sure that Albus is still standing there waiting for him.

"Hello Albus - I ... I wonder if you have forgiven me because you did not answer me. I mean, I know time was too short - not that you think I'm asking you to travel through time or anything like that just to tell me what you -" He interrupts himself, sighs and bites his lip uncomfortably.

Grinning, Albus holds out his hand to him, as he did before these terrible vacations, and this time it doesn't take a second for Scorpius to grab it. Apparently eager not to repeat his mistake, he bumps against the back of his hand before jerking back and trying again. His grip is firm, almost painful, as if he doesn't know how to act in such moments, but Albus definitely doesn't know either, so he ignores it.

"It was a really difficult, resource-consuming process, but in the end I was able to forgive you at least halfway," Albus replies gracefully, hinting at a curtsy.

Red spots spread out on Scorpius' neck. "You're pulling my leg right now, right? Sorry, I'm a bit upset about everything and ... It took me a while to get rid of my father. I mean, he wanted to talk to you, but I could persuade him to stop," he rattles down and swallows visibly, then keeps silent, embarrassed, and slowly Albus begins to suspect why the other children avoid him.

"Your father ...? That really wouldn't have been embarrassing at all," says Albus and starts to laugh. At first, it looks like Scorpius is unsure what the remark meant, but then he smiles and dimples split his glowing cheeks.

"Yeah, you know, he's worried because nobody else is talking to me, especially none of the kids whose parents he knows." Ashamed, Scorpius notices that he is still holding Albus' hand, and loosens his grip, accompanied by an awkward sniff. "Sorry, I'm not very good at this sort of thing."

"Understandable if you have learned how to do it from your father," Albus teases and laughs again. "I mean, because he wants to talk to me before I even talked to you. That's really weird."

"I know. That cost me a few friends before your brother started ... Whatever. Anyway," he writhes again, and gradually the uneasy feeling between them etches itself into Albus' neck.

"We can walk through the castle a little, if you prefer. There's still so much time until dinner," Albus suggests as another student rolls his suitcase onto the pile with the others. He stares at them with that strangely sensation-seeking expression in his eyes, which he has known well enough as a child of Harry Potter, but can hardly bear at the moment.

Scorpius looks up at the ceiling and closes his eyes, breathing frantically, and Albus already fears he would have a stroke as he swallows and nods and looks at him with a clear look. "Oh yes, please. I was hoping you wouldn't want to stay here either."

* * *

On the way across the castle, Albus has had the small talk with Scorpius, and now they walk silently side by side. Out of the corner of his eye, Albus looks at his new friend, because although he has looked at him many times before, they have rarely been this close, and now the strange habits of the other boy reveal themselves to him.

The first thing he notices is that he apparently would rather stumble than step on the joints between the stone slabs. It looks tedious, and sometimes Scorpius sticks out the tip of his tongue as if he were concentrating on not making a mistake.

Looking up at Scorpius' winter boots, Albus watches as he places each step perfectly in the center of the squares. It is fascinating and disturbing at the same time, because it makes his movements seem angular, as if he were not a real person but a well-camouflaged machine.

Suddenly his feet stop, again exactly in the middle, and Albus looks up. Scorpius has buried his glowing cheeks in his gray scarf and looks unhappily in his direction without looking directly at him. "You are watching me, aren't you?" he asks quietly.

"Yes." Albus shifts a few inches to the left so Scorpius can keep an eye on him despite his obvious shyness, and indeed, he is looking directly at him now.

Frowning, he exhales heavily before replying, "And you think I'm funny, don't you?"

Actually Albus finds the questioning much stranger than Scorpius' behavior, but he nods. "Is that a problem?"

"Um... it's just... I mean, it's your right. You're still talking to me, even though I screwed up before the vacations and I should be glad I did, but -" He interrupts himself and strokes his hair behind his blushed ear. Albus notices that his fingertips are red too and suppresses a grin. "I really am glad. I only hoped that you would not find me so horrible - funny."

"Huh?"

"What I meant to say was that I hoped that you liked me anyway!" Scorpius suddenly shouts out loud and Albus, who was expecting everything but being yelled at, flinches. "Oh, Morgana, I'm sorry. I just can't get this right and I should probably just -" Scorpius' palm lays on his mouth as if he suddenly felt nauseous.

Winking, Albus tugs at the collar of his cloak as he thinks about what to say. Suddenly, he feels terribly nervous, and he hopes Scorpius will soon get used to him so he can put these embarrassing conversations behind him. "Okay. I just don't understand. When did I tell you I didn't like you?"

"You - Oh, no. You never said it."

"If I didn't like you, I wouldn't talk to you," assures Albus, but at the same time asks himself whether this would be any consolation at all. He pulls his lower lip between his teeth and shifts the weight from one leg to the other while trying to find a hint in Scorpius' face to see if he said something wrong. After a few moments, a disarming smile spreads across it.

Again Albus notices the dimples and also a row of straight, white teeth. All of a sudden he feels deficient, and he pulls his hair out from behind his ears so that it falls into his face. In general, he is not conceited, but next to Scorpius, the thought that he actually resembles his father too much comes automatically to him.

"If anyone at all," Albus mumbles and looks down, "my nasty brother should rather ask himself if he is good enough. Not us." He listens to the echo of the words in his head, and it feels good, so he looks into Scorpius' eyes and smiles. "You're funny, but I like you, and besides, you're not hurting anyone. Most of the time, anyway."

Although he thought his words were nice and friendly and that they would make Scorpius happy, he averted his gaze again, a hand on one of his cheeks as if he was feeling for the temperature. Then he sniffs, and gradually a booming frustration spreads into Albus' belly. "What is it?", he asks, a bit too gruff.

"Nothing," says Scorpius, the voice swelling, wiping his eyes. "I've never heard anything like it before -"

"Are you crying right now?" Shocked, he approaches Scorpius and pulls his hands out of his face. He can actually see tiny drops on the blond eyelashes and traces of tears on the blotchy skin. "Why?"

He continues to keep his hands wrapped around the other boy's heated wrists, mainly because in this way he can force him to look at him, which Albus finds much more practical than taking the detour of looking away and stuttering. Scorpius could still look to the side, but he doesn't; he stares Albus straight in the face.

At least he doesn't cry anymore, thinks Albus and clears his throat laboriously.

"I'm not crying," Scorpius squeaks at some point. "But no one has ever said something this nice to me before. And I don't know what to say to that. Thank you, and you don't hurt anyone either, most of the time at least?"

"For instance," Albus replies with a grin. "That would be one possibility. Or you could explain to me why I might be wrong, and that in your spare time you actually like to ride around town on your motorcycle, set garbage cans on fire and beat up superheroes."

All of a sudden, Scorpius' tension drops and a loud laugh breaks out of him. A laughter that is contagious and simply carries Albus away.

"I don't do that, but I once accidentally packed some important papers from my father and then forgot them. I got into a lot of trouble with that!"

"Oooh, so you are evil after all," Albus teases him, happy that he can finally talk to Scorpius normally.

"Well, if you have the wrong crest on your cloak, you'll just have to figure something out."

Loosening his grip around Scorpius' wrists, Albus takes a step over to the wall and leans against it. "What is right and wrong is a matter of opinion," he says and grimaces contemptuously. "With me, they all would prefer I was a Gryffindor."

"Better not", Scorpius replies gently and leans next to him. "It's really awful there, and if I could change one thing in my life, it's that I ended up there of all places." He looks out the window into the sunset, and Albus, who now no longer fears Scorpius will retreat back into himself, follows his gaze.

"Maybe I can help you." The thought has not left his mind since the failed conversation with his father. "Together we could really screw up James' life."

It could have gone wrong; he could have scared the shy, frightened Scorpius to such an extent that he never spoke another word to Albus. He could just as well have turned out to be a traitor who tells James everything at the first opportunity. But instead, he finds nothing in Scorpius' features but tense anticipation and excitement, and that's all he needs.


	3. A plan fails

The next day Albus has an important task; and so for the first time his gaze is not directed inwards but towards his new friend Scorpius. During breakfast, he looks at the unmistakable golden-blond shimmer of his hair, which makes the pale face underneath seem even more inconspicuous.

Albus doesn't know if he can hide how agitated he is, but he doesn't think it's very likely. His stomach seems to have shrunk to the size of a plum, so that the bite from the toast he took before is rumbling and aching in it, and he can only with some effort stop himself from constantly looking at the clock.

When his unsteady gaze meets that of Scorpius (who looks away with glowing cheeks immediately afterwards), his fingers find their way into his hair as of their own accord, and while he wonders whether he might better let a teacher know, he buries them in the thick, black strands.

If Scorpius had mentioned a single word about the tortures he suffered from James and his stupid Gryffindor friends in his childhood home, what are the odds that McGonagall would look away? That aside, from all that Albus knows about Draco Malfoy, he is certain that he would have made a fuss long ago (a thought that not only creates a kind of rebellious excitement, but also a small, barely locatable stab of simple envy in Albus).

Worried, he notes that James, who is sitting a few students away from Scorpius, seems to be getting bored. He puts his head together with a terribly pale boy whose face is so long that it looks like a horse's, and they giggle and turn their heads to watch Scorpius shrink into himself on his side of the bench.

Just get up and walk, Albus thinks, while a deep nausea gurgles in his stomach. Why don't you go?

But Scorpius stays where he is, although by now the eyes of many Gryffindors are on him, and tries to lead the spoon to his mouth with trembling hands. He spills, and near him two girls burst out laughing, which sounds shrill in Albus' ears as if it came straight from a demon's face in hell.

Then he notices a movement from the corners of his eyes, sees the black painted tip of James' wand peeking out of the sleeve of his cloak, and a strained but exaggerated grimace appears in his brother's hated face. He swallows dry, and the nausea seems to rise inexorably. He could still do something. It would spoil the punch line of their plan, but still -

A loud clang and the bowl is torn in two; the milk pours into Scorpius' lap. By now everyone who heard it is laughing, and James doesn't even bother to pretend that he has nothing to do with it. He throws himself into his chest and looks at them all one by one with an anointing smile, as if he had done them a great favor.

The queasiness presses on his gullet, so Albus closes his eyes for a second. When he opens them again, Scorpius has jumped up, face stained, lip quivering as if he was about to start crying, and the cereal sticks to his fine cloak in a patch of milk, making the expensive fabric look as if he had puked on it. Under the laughter of the Gryffindors, Scorpius storms out of the hall.

Albus' gaze flutters to the teacher's table. No one seems to have noticed anything. Most of them stare into the void or into their newspaper, only the seat of Professor Longbottom is vacant, the sole teacher who would probably have done something. Hagrid is not present either, but Albus doubts that he could have made it clear to him quickly enough what is happening right now - or what is yet to happen.

He has no choice.

His sweaty hands claw around the strap of his shoulder bag, and Albus almost got up too early, because James is still busy getting shakes and being celebrated by his buddies. In the meantime, the nausea has given way to a muffled emptiness that is only broken by his own heartbeat at irregular intervals. It feels as if his body consists of nothing else and contracts around his pulse.

Finally James moves and swings his leg over the bench. Worried, Albus notices how the horse-faced boy turns around as well, and for a moment he fears he might interfere. Fortunately James is not only brutal and stupid, but also proud. He shakes his head, jumps up and follows Scorpius outside alone.

Now it's all about not drawing attention to himself to James' friends, so Albus opens his bag with trembling hands and pulls the first book out of it. A glance ahead reveals to him that the boys have put their heads together and are whispering to each other, so he opens the volume and stands up as well.

While he tries to make a concentrated impression, the letters dance before his eyes with every step. The noise breaks through his fear; and a second later it swells further, nourished by the sounds he usually blocks out: The murmur of hundreds of voices, thrown back from a ceiling that no one has seen for a thousand years.

No sooner has he left the hall without being disturbed (nothing seems as frightening and at the same time insignificant to the students he wants to avoid as opened books) than Albus stuffs the book back in his pocket. With a tensed up face, he crosses the hall and slips into the corridor of the outer ring wall, which houses the classroom for fortune telling, and, more importantly for Albus, the toilets on the first floor. He stops next to the half-open door, ready to intervene when Scorpius gives the agreed-upon signal.

Voices emerge from the room.

"You didn't really think I was going to let you get away with a little milk on your cloak, did you?" James sneers. Albus has heard this tone of voice often, and he doesn't have to bother imagining his brother putting his arms up to his hips to look like an impressive opponent. How the wicked smile turns his face into a mask.

He has seen it often enough.

Albus has been silent most of the time and planning his revenge while he did so, so he was thrilled by the thought Scorpius expressed last night. "I will answer him, just this once. I want him to think that he has misjudged me all along," he said and gave Albus a nervous smile.

Yet he was not prepared for how frightening it is when the thought becomes action.

"A-and you think you have some say in this matter, huh?" whispers Scorpius. The nervous tone of voice makes his words seem ridiculous, although the question he asks is the only appropriate thing to say.

James bursts into laughter and Scorpius, who hasn't finished yet, now has to speak up if he wants to be heard. "Do you think you are someone special just because your father is important?" he suddenly yells. Albus winces, and he is sure that James hadn't expected it either. His false laughter dies away but Scorpius doesn't lower his voice. "The son of Harry Potter, who can get away with anything just because of that? Oh, Potter, I think you need a bit more intelligence than an ordinary troll to realize that the opposite is true!"

"You're calling me a troll?", James asks softly, his voice firmer and deeper than Scorpius' hysterical shriek, so that he sounds like a father reproving his son. Albus takes a deep breath and lets the bag slide to the ground next to him.

Scorpius has stopped screaming and sounds kind of worn out. "I-I'm just saying what everyone's thinking."

"Everyone? What are you dreaming up?", James growls. "No one would take your side. You cry like a girl and you're just embarrassing! Not even the Slytherins wanted you - you're not a snake, just a little worm!"

It is time for Scorpius to stop provoking and say the word that would give Albus the signal to storm the room. He should have had him in position by now. It's the only thing that matters; that he gets James to turn his back on the door and signals Albus that it worked. Then everything would go well.

He has learned from the stories of his parents' school days that Draco Malfoy once possessed an unwavering sense of aim when it came to verbally hitting his opponent's greatest weakness, and at that moment, Albus realizes with frightening certainty that they will fail because he did not consider that the shy Scorpius might have inherited this ability.

Slowly he smashes their plan of revenge into a thousand pieces. "Come to think of it," he says quietly, "I believe you are nothing more than a copy of your father."

Albus tenses his muscles and fights the urge to run away as fast as he can. He knows Scorpius has made a terrible mistake, James' silence a mere confirmation, and he will forget the magic and beat Scorpius' face to a pulp.

"A bad copy," Scorpius adds, the voice rough with excitement, "that doesn't come close to the original.

James doesn't answer, instead there is a rumble and a soft, suffocated groan. On trembling legs, Albus staggers a step to the side, face turned away, as if none of this was his own fault; as if this fight was none of his business. But then it occurs to him that it's just instinct, fear a feeling that is supposed to prevent him from taking control of his life, so he forces himself to stagger to the toilet and push open the door.

The first thing he sees is the dark red face of Scorpius, shining from the crook of his brother's arm, lips purple and swollen. James has him in a headlock, but the other hand is also on his throat. His face is no longer that of his brother; it is the ugly grimace of a demon, distorted and devoid of humanity.

Albus does not stop at begging his brother to let Scorpius go. He suspects that only a shock spell could prevent him from strangling his friend, but how is he supposed to hit him without harming Scorpius?

Not much time left to decide, so Albus runs towards him, his hands clenched in fists. In a split second, James seems to regain consciousness, and indeed, he lets go of Scorpius; he pushes him away as if the touch suddenly disgusted him, and he has just enough time to turn towards Albus, his face petrified with amazement before his ankles crash against his cheekbone.

The blow is not hard enough to rip him off his feet, but it is enough to let the unshakable confidence in his everlasting victory flow out of him, and Albus sees it happening. He sees his brother writhing, his hands pressed to the side of his head, his face distorted in pain. The look in his eyes blurs and he gasps.

Shaking out his aching hand, Albus looks over to Scorpius, who is kneeling on the white tiles, his arms wrapped around his belly. He writhes and coughs, but he is alive, and at the moment nothing else matters.

"Dad will take you out of school for this," mumbles James indistinctly. The side of his nose gradually swells up. "You'll wish you'd never been born!"

This is indeed what Albus often wished for, but it is not what frightens him the most. He doesn't fool himself; James would claim that Albus attacked him for no reason, and unlike Albus, he has an injury to show for it. If Scorpius would continue to be silent, it would be word against word, and as he trots off and leaves them alone in the toilet, Albus has to admit to himself that his brother is not as stupid as he has accused him.

Because he has refrained from striking back, Albus would now look like a mean bully.

* * *

Exhausted, Albus approaches Scorpius and lets himself fall on his knees before him. The subliminal fear of the consequences of their failed plan thunders in his veins, but his head is remarkably clear, and he notices that James' act has left a glowing mark on Scorpius' skin; his neck looks like a single bruise.

"Are you okay?" he asks soundlessly. Scorpius evades his gaze and looks down at his knees, arms still wrapped around his belly, wrinkling the soiled cape, and Albus shakes his head. "Aside from the obvious, I mean."

The fine hair slides down his cheek, covering his face like a curtain, as Scorpius croaks: "I just can't believe it. You h-have really beaten him..." His tone of voice sounds deep, somehow false, like an accusation, and awakens in Albus a thought that he cannot bear: That Scorpius, whom he wanted to help (and basically helped, even if it didn't turn out the way they intended), would reproach him for finally punching his brother in the face.

"Then I'd better go after him and apologize," Albus snaps. Scorpius shrugs and looks up, eyes open in disbelief. "Perhaps he will forgive me if I kiss his holy feet with my unworthy face! You of all people should be on my side, Scorpius!" He crosses his arms in front of his chest, deliberately pressing the aching ankles of his right hand firmly against the inside of his upper arm.

"N-no, please, why do you say such a thing?", Scorpius breathes in a trembling voice, and the blush creeps back under his skin.

Disarming, but Albus has no intention of stopping. "I believe you worked out this plan with me, didn't you? You agreed to it. You were supposed to beat him. And now you want to blame me for -"

"I don't want to blame you!", Scorpius yells in between. His rough voice sounds like the croak of a crow. "I didn't mean that, please, Albus!"

"Then how?"

"Just... like this." Scorpius puts his hands in front of his eyes, and it is such a pathetic sight that Albus raises his shoulders uneasily. "I couldn't have done it even if our plan had worked."

In that case it would have turned out badly for both of them. Even if he had put all his strength together, Albus would not have been able to hold his brother for long. Especially if Scorpius had stood before him and hesitated to pay him back. "So should I interpret your remark as admiration?" Albus asks jokingly and draws his mouth into a dull grin.

"You ... can do that." Scorpius looks carefully in his direction, and finally Albus fully realizes how upset he looks. His lips are dry, torn in the middle, and his gaze is strangely unsteady, as if he were afraid to point it at the wrong spot for a long time, not to mention the fine veins that shine through his thin skin and make him look dead tired.

Albus snorts and looks down on his part. He is embarrassed by his outburst; and the fact that Scorpius ignored the kidding in his question and answered him seriously reinforces the bad feeling in his chest. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled like that right away," he says to the tiles in front of his knees. "I'm just - soon my father will be here to lie to my face that he only wants my best and therefore has to lock me up at home forever or something, and I can't -"

"Do you really think he will do that? I mean, doesn't he know what an arsehole your brother is?"

Although Scorpius doesn't say anything about Albus' apology, he sounds honestly interested and a bit worried, but Albus doesn't trust himself right now, so he doesn't go into it and considers the question.

"I guess he's pretending otherwise." His hand slides out of his grasp and into his lap. "I don't know if he's really taking me out of school. I think he doesn't blame my house, but me, so maybe he'll let me stay. He's such a disgusting hypocrite. I guess he won't believe me anyway."

"I'm so sorry I messed up your plan," Scorpius suddenly says miserably. "I shouldn't have gone on - I should have just let you know, like we agreed." He closes his eyes and takes a deep and trembling breath. "Now I've brought you nothing but trouble."

"Not really. After all, he would have strangled you if I hadn't hit him. No one would seriously expect that I would have had to talk to him in such a case. Well, almost no one. My father might disagree, but fortunately he doesn't have much say here." As he talks, Scorpius flinches and bows his head, frightened and intimidated, an everyday sight with him, but this time it causes an unpleasant feeling in Albus.

He suspects why, and a few seconds later his suspicions are confirmed when Scorpius shakes his head and turns a pleading look at Albus. "Couldn't we ... perhaps arrange it differently? I could never tell my father what your brother is doing to me, never!" His voice rises and a panicky undertone distorts the words, the meaning of which Albus begins to understand. "It would be just like that - it would be terrible to admit that I am not able to defend myself against your brother. My father would..."

"Storm the school and do something about James. Against the conditions we all suffer from."

"No, certainly not! He'd probably be disgusted with me for putting up with it and not being able to do anything about it -"

Disappointed Albus looks to the side. In spite of this bad premonition, he hoped Scorpius would take his side for him; return the favor, but that sounds like he's letting Albus take the blame for this alone. In a way, he may be responsible for this misery because it was his idea - but it failed in those seemingly endless seconds before James began threatening Scorpius' life anyway. Not to mention that without Scorpius, it would never have escalated like this.

His gaze pauses on a cracked tile under a dripping sink as he bites his cheek to hold back the words that want to flood his mouth like a poison that he has to spit out before it robs him of his senses. It seems to stun him, and Albus doesn't know whether he should be glad that it has been proven so quickly how much better he gets along without friends.

"I dare nothing, Albus," Scorpius admits after a while. "I know I have to tell someone, anyone at all. I just don't know how. There's so much. Years of him torturing me. They'll ask why I didn't say anything before. What do you answer?"

Scorpius sobs but Albus won't look at him. He continues to stare at the dark crack that runs across the middle of the tile, imagining his father storming into the school and yelling at him for damaging his true, good son and inflicting draconian punishments on him while Scorpius turns away and doesn't say a word.

He is a coward like James, only in a different way, and actually Albus hates cowardice almost as much as he hates hypocrisy, and if one thing is certain, it is that his life has been overflowing with both for too long.

"Until I came to school, I didn't even know that people could treat someone like that with impunity -"

"They couldn't do that anyway," Albus snaps, forgetting for a moment that he had wanted to hold back, and because the reason suddenly seems unimportant to him, he looks straight into Scorpius' tear-stained eyes and continues speaking. "They only get away with it because you keep your cowardly mouth shut."

Scorpius' eyes widen in horror. A few times he opens his mouth, closes it directly on top of it, like a fish snapping at words, until more tears flow down his cheeks. He presses his eyes together and sinks his nose between his tucked up knees.

Disgusted by himself but unable to react differently, Albus jumps on his feet and turns away.

"Please don't go," Scorpius howls after him. "I want to help, I - I just don't know how!"

"Helping," murmurs Albus, "is not even close enough. If you want to put it right, please, but if you let me down now, you can shove it all somewhere else. Then that's it for us."

Quickly, he walks out of the toilet room into the empty hallway where he furiously picks his bag. As he rushes forward, he listens with satisfaction to his footsteps echoing until he reaches the more crowded entrance hall. He almost hopes to see his father standing there waiting for him. In any case, it would have helped him not to let at least the tense expectation of the confrontation that will surely follow grow any further.

It disappoints him that he cannot discover a single adult. Trampling, he continues on his way and avoids a few students who are standing around in a group in the middle of the hall talking. One of them gives him a push, not hard enough to knock him down, although the elbow leaves a sharp pain on his upper arm.

He stops. It is a mixed group of Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors. The horse-faced boy, who was sitting at the breakfast table with James, is also in the group. Albus raises an eyebrow as their eyes meet, and the smirking on this unattractive face deepens.

"Hey, Potter, do you know what they do with rotten thugs like you at this school? You've never been to Filch, have you?", the boy croaks. It sounds as if he's trying to imitate James' scornful tone, but he fails miserably. He speaks too softly and looks around nervously.

"If I'm a rotten thug," Albus says aloud, "then how come I've never been to Filch?"

He clenches his hands into fists, which is difficult, because the knuckles of his batting hand hurt like hell, and he puts on his fiercest look. Usually this helps when someone tries to mess with him, but the boy does not retreat despite his nervousness. The other students partly seem embarrassed, and some avert their gaze as if they were afraid of being associated with this scene.

"Nobody has ever reported you!"

Although Albus doesn't look around to avoid missing an attack, he senses that everyone's attention has long been focused on them. The conversations gradually fade away; and a little boy from Ravenclaw, standing in the middle of the group, looks at his watch, hits his head and hurries away as if he had an important appointment.

If he were not at the center of this unfortunate conflict, Albus would have laughed at this obvious escape.

"I suppose the Gryffindor speaks from experience." As inconspicuously as possible, he fishes for his wand in his cloak pocket, because he would surely lose a fist fight. He would immobilize this guy with a shock spell and flee into the common room if he dared to take a step towards him.

"Come on, Boyd, knock it off. He hasn't done anything to you," hisses a pretty girl from Hufflepuff and tugs at his sleeve. Her blue eyes are wide open as if she wanted to hypnotize him. A short eye contact between her and Boyd develops, but soon it becomes obvious that he won't be appeased.

"You didn't see how he mauled James, Elsie. His eye is totally swollen! So he can forget about the Quidditch match, he never sees the bludgers," he squawks, and Albus stares in disgust at his huge mouth, which from the side reminds him of a clapperboard.

Silently, Albus clutches his wand, which lies warm in his sweaty hand. He refrains from asking this Boyd why James would not simply let Madam Pomfrey treat him. First, he would not understand that it would be a rhetorical question, the answer to which has long been obvious (James would never give up the chance to rest on his injury and constantly remind everyone of his brother's alleged infamy), and second, from now on, anything he could say would be used as ammunition against him anyway.

"Maybe you shouldn't mess with him then," whispers Elsie. She gives Albus a shy look and lets her brown hair fall into her face. A gesture that reminds him of Scorpius and causes an unpleasant tingling in his neck. "I mean, if he's so dangerous, why do you provoke him like that?"

Because he knows what really happened, Albus thinks bitterly. Because he and James are no better.

"Hello? James is my friend! I can't let that one get away with this!"

Not letting him out of his sight, Albus takes a few steps to the side and is about to squeeze in between the onlookers who have gathered around the actors in the drama. When Boyd notices that he wants to sneak away, he releases his sleeve from Elsie's grip and wipes his wet forehead.

"You stand still, Potter! I'll give you back a thousand times what you did to James!" He theatrically points his finger forward like a superhero trying to stop a villain, and Albus can't help but grin. He lets the tip of his wand flash out of his pocket to have a clear shot and waits with a hammering heart.

"I would advise against that, Mr. Atkins," says a deep voice from the direction of the stairs behind them. No one saw him coming, they were all too engrossed.

The calm gaze from the brown eyes is at Albus at first, before Professor Longbottom descends the steps and stands beside Boyd, who seems petrified, his arm still stretched out towards Albus. It is silent, only a faint thunder rumbles in the distance, and suddenly the situation seems unreal.

"What is going on here?" The teacher looks at them all one by one, but Boyd lowers his gaze. Albus doesn't say anything either, hoping that he can soon hide in his common room.

"Sir, please, he meant no harm. He just--" Elsie interrupts herself, because not only Professor Longbottom, but also Boyd whirls around to her. She wrestles her cloak seam with her hands and clears her throat. "Boyd only wanted to talk to Potter about what happened to his brother -"

"You mean what he did to him!" the boy interrupts her excitedly. "Professor, Potter hurt James bad, and then he provoked me!"

For the blink of an eye, it looks like Professor Longbottom is rolling his eyes. Then he looks at Albus, and there is a grim expression on his normally friendly face, so that fear threatens to take over. "Careful, Mr. Atkins, it's all too easy to mistake the way you talk to your fellow human beings for the threat of violence - and that's something that's not supported at this school, I'm afraid." Still Professor Longbottom doesn't look away, but instead Albus gradually feels as if he's crawling through his eyes into his head.

"If you are still standing around here because I have not made myself clear I'll handle Mr. Potter. ...the rest of you, get back to your classes."

Little by little the students dribble away, and when Boyd lets Elsie drag him towards the dungeons, Albus desires nothing more than to leave as well, but he realizes that he will not get away. As an old friend of the family, Professor Longbottom will hold him until his father is at school to snap him up.

The teacher turns away and walks past the stairs through a passage leading to the heart of the castle, slowly, as if he had all the time in the world and nothing more important to do than take a walk. All that is missing is the whistling of a cheerful ditty, shooting through Albus' mind before he swallows and trots after him.

* * *

Albus has never set foot in the teachers' room before, and as he stands in front of the long table and stares uncomfortably at the different chairs, he realizes that he would prefer to avoid coming here again in the future, because this room breathes an atmosphere of austerity and tiredness, a combination that has the potential to suck out any remaining energy. Maybe it's also because of his over-stimulated nerves, for his ankles are now hurting badly, and given what he might be in for, he regrets that he ever wanted to help Scorpius.

Besides, Professor Longbottom hasn't said a word to him, and if there's one thing that makes Albus nervous, it's that expectant silence that adults try to make you talk.

Strained, he continues to stare at a chair with a woollen blanket suspiciously looking like a cuddly blanket on its back, trying to ignore the glances burning into his neck. The seconds stretch, but he remains steadfast and doesn't say a word, even when he feels he has to scream to release the pressure inside him.

Suddenly the black cape of his teacher slides into his field of vision as he sits down on the side of the table. This breaks the spell under which Albus was standing and he looks up. The grim expression on Professor Longbotton's face has disappeared, instead he chews his thumbnail with great effort, seemingly lost in thought.

Albus remembers the stories he heard from his father about this man. That he was unpopular as a child, was said to have had an underdeveloped self-confidence, and had often been teased. Of course, he didn't believe every obvious piece of bullshit that was told to him, but by now he is wondering if it could be true; a boy who had to serve as a punching bag, but who at some point learned to assert himself.

His broad shoulders, strong hands, and calm, level-headed nature convinced Albus in his first year that Professor Longbottom had been everything but an unpopular, mocked child like him, who could hardly defend himself against a bad word. After all, no student ever contradicted him, and what better proof could there be that his father was wrong?

Now Albus understands that there is more behind it.

Professor Longbottom wipes his hands on his cloak and takes a deep breath. "I took James to the hospital wing before I came for you. Madam Pomfrey will patch him up, and looking at your hand like this, I will accompany you there as well after we're finished here."

His quiet voice doesn't reveal what he is feeling, which makes it difficult for Albus to push back the restlessness in his belly. "It's nothing, sir."

"We'll worry about that later - Professor McGonagall has sent word to your father, and he'll be here soon."

Cramping his fingers around the sleeve hem, Albus closes his eyes for a moment. He had expected it, but that does not stop his heart from pounding against his chest at breakneck speed. "That was clear."

"Maybe you would like to tell me something first."

Suspiciously, Albus opens his eyes a crack. The expression on his teacher's face is alert, but otherwise friendly. Maybe he just wants Albus to confide in him and make a full confession, which is more likely than wanting to help him, so he bites his lips and crosses his arms in front of his chest.

"You have never been conspicuous, unlike your brother, so I think you should tell me your version of the story so I can support you."

Even if he were to mention Scorpius or even tell everything, he could never prove it unless he presented his memories. Then not only would the unfortunate plan come to light that Scorpius and he used to lure James into a trap, but also all the things Scorpius dares not tell.

The thought of spreading the secrets of this shy, frightened boy all over the world to give himself a better position seems like betrayal to him. How could he be so heartless as to put it into practice?

Then Professor Longbottom says something that almost shatters his resolve: "I know you are not treated well at home, Albus. I can see it in your face, and it won't get any easier unless you let me help you."

His vision becomes blurred when the irrepressible urge to trust this teacher floods his chest and drowns the courage in his heart. When he realizes that Albus is in a lost position, he may really be able to -

Professor Longbottom must have sensed that he almost got Albus to talk to him, because his tone of voice becomes softer, the words more confidential. "No one will be surprised that you put up a fight. Finally, I might add, although, as a teacher, of course, I'm not allowed to take sides." A quiet laugh. "And I will deny having said anything of the sort; but I think you Slytherins are having a really hard time, especially in this day and age. And in a family of Gryffindors -"

It is the confidential tone, coming at the right time, that reawakens Albus' suspicion. He feels as if Professor Longbottom had tried out various buttons on him, only to concentrate on the one that provokes a desired reaction; keeping it pressed until the result fits.

Words he has always wished to hear, understanding he has longed for since he was separated from his family as a black sheep, the first Slytherin in ages. It can be nothing but manipulation.

He wipes his eyes, not even bothering to be inconspicuous, because his teacher will be lurking for every movement anyway, trying to make his face look as smooth as possible. Expressionlessly he looks at him. "Sure, sir. As you say."

With grim satisfaction he notices that Professor Longbottom, frustrated, turns his gaze away and presses the palms of his hands against his forehead. "You don't make it easy," he mumbles and gets up to stretch. "But the offer stands. You can contact me at any time, even with an owl if that makes it easier for you."

Smiling indeterminately, Albus listens to the rumbling of heavy footsteps in the hallway outside the teachers' room. It does not surprise him that the door is pushed open powerfully without Harry Potter being bothered with pleasantries such as knocking, yet he cannot suppress a wince.

* * *

The door slams shut behind him, and from the corners of his eyes Albus sees that Professor Longbottom also flinches. Stubbornly, he keeps his gaze fixed on the tabletop, and suddenly he wishes he had opened his mouth after all, because the presence of the man is enough to stir up his anxiety.

"Thank you for supervising him, Neville," he says friendly, as if he hadn't just made a dramatic entrance ready for the stage. "You can leave us alone then, I'll talk to my son."

The professor does not move an inch. Albus looks up in amazement, just fast enough to see a short-lived smile on his face fade away. "Good afternoon, Harry." Still he does not move, not even to shake hands with his old friend.

"Um, hello."

An uneasy silence spreads out, in which questions force themselves into Albus' head that have nothing to do with him and to which he would not get answers if he dared to ask them.

If he is a friend of the family, why don't they greet each other like this? They must have had a fight; is that the reason why Albus hasn't seen the man at his home for so long?

"I'll handle this, Neville," Harry says in a tone of voice that is at least crudely rude, and suddenly grabs Albus' upper arm with his hand, so tightly that he has to suppress a painful gasp. Unnecessarily so, because the teacher's eyes are firmly focused on the unwanted touch, as if he had foreseen it.

He seems to think for a moment before he replies: "I don't think so. Even though you were kindly notified and summoned here immediately, although there was no reason to do so, this matter is subject to the teachers of this school."

His father's fingers tense up so that his fingertips press more painfully into Albus' flesh, and he clenches his teeth to fight the urge to break free. "No reason at all? If one of my sons bruises the cheekbone of the other, there is very well a reason for it!"

Then he pulls Albus to his side by his throbbing arm and drags his chin upwards so that he has no choice but to look into his rage-distorted grimace, if only for a second, because the tears shoot into his eyes again and make the world blur. "And you, what were you thinking?", Harry yells into his face. "Just to walk up and give James such a slap that he can't see anything anymore - you can't tell me that I taught you to fight back this way! Be glad your cowardly revenge doesn't leave any permanent damage, otherwise -"

Suddenly his father releases Albus' arm again. It seems to him as if it would take a while for his vision to clear up, but when he realizes what happened, he comes to the conclusion that it could have been only seconds.

Harry rubs his reddened hand, his face distorted in pain, and Professor Longbottom holds the wand towards him. His arm seems to shake, but then Albus realizes that it's not just the arm; the whole man is seething with suppressed rage.

"It's just a swell curse," spits out Professor Longbottom. "Next time, I swear to you, I won't hold back like this."

Worried, Albus massages his upper arm and involuntarily takes a step back when Harry shakes the wand from his sleeve. Although he points it at his hand, which has now swollen to twice its size, and undoes the curse with an unspoken spell, he can't imagine Harry Potter letting something like that sit on him; and when he freaks out, Albus would rather be far away.

"I can -" his father mumbles, then he looks directly at Albus, who retreats even further until the table is between them. "Albus, I'm sorry. It -" he closes his eyes. "I am so infinitely sorry. I did not mean to hurt or frighten you."

Albus believes him to be sorry, but that doesn't change the despise that pours darkly into his chest and sticks to it like tar, a feeling that intensifies every time he realizes how weak this man actually is. No comparison to James, who at least doesn't regret his actions, or to Scorpius, who simply does nothing. Especially not to Professor Longbottom, who turned away with a grim face, and whom he would have preferred a thousand times as a father.

"I'm not scared," Albus replies, folding his arms in front of his chest, "but that doesn't mean I have to stand near you, as if I could trust you or something."

"Okay. Okay, Albus, I respect that. You can stand wherever you want if you just tell me what you were thinking, attacking James just like that." He slips the wand back up his sleeve. In fact, he stops, even blinks a little, as if he's about to start crying, but that doesn't soothe Albus.

"Why should I tell you anything? You didn't even ask if it was all true," Albus shouts. He only notices that he is crying when the tears splinter on his cheek. "I'm supposed to tell you what I was thinking about something that never happened!"

"So... you didn't hit him?", his father asks and throws an uncertain look at Professor Longbottom, which he doesn't notice because he is concentrating on Albus.

"I'd like to intervene here," he says, now calm again. "Albus, you have not yet commented on James' accusations; and obviously there is something else we should know. If you feel more comfortable with that, we can talk about it alone." He casts a gloomy look at Harry, which he replies with indignation.

"I'm grateful to you for intervening, Neville. I realize that I lost control and I'm sorry for that too," Harry snaps. "But you don't have to pretend to be -"

He interrupts himself as the door opens again, and a blink of an eye later Harry Potter is torn from his feet and flung against the chairs.


	4. Bickering among former rivals

Reflexively, Albus takes a step forward, his hand outstretched, as if to help his father up. But even if he had wanted to, he doesn't get around to it, because Draco Malfoy is standing in the doorway, and his appearance takes Albus' courage to move. He is a tall man, slim though he is, but the rage that seems to surround him like a thundercloud makes him seem all the more impressive. The gray eyes are directed at Harry, and the soft groaning from his mouth makes sparks emerge from his outstretched wand.

"What the -? Could someone help me? What's gotten into you, Malfoy?", growls Harry. It looks like he's lying on the leg of a chair and can't get up, but no one seems to care.

"What's got into me? Into _me_?", says Draco Malfoy loudly, his voice is hard and cold. "I have apologized to you, and I was sorry, too, even though we were both children and had given each other nothing. I was grateful for your help. I have tried to better myself, seriously. And I don't give a damn what you do with your brood as long as it is not a danger to my son!"

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Unbelievingly blinking, Albus stares into the face in which he finds so much of Scorpius, and has to swallow for a nervous tingle in his throat when his gaze is suddenly returned. Unlike his son, Draco Malfoy has long since lost his full hair, and it looks lighter, almost pale compared to the golden shimmer surrounding a very similar, sharp face. The eyes are darker, and Albus cannot judge whether they are colored by the sinister look in them.

He has never seen Scorpius' father up close before. He used to be the flash of a blurry face, a fleeting thought spurred on by Uncle Ron's hate speech against the Slytherins' ... well, slyness in general and the Malfoys' in particular. Now he looks at Albus, only moments after snapping at his father, flinging him against pieces of furniture, and next to his suppressed urge to laugh like a lunatic, Albus feels strangely restless.

A hissing noise shatters this unaccustomed concentration on another person, and Albus turns around with a flutter in his throat. Professor Longbottom, who has half-heartedly pointed the wand at Mr. Malfoy, stretches his back. "Although the situation is of course a special one, Malfoy, I cannot allow you to simply attack any other parents, especially when they are here on official business." And contrary to his words, he sits down on the table again, puts his elbows on his thighs and smiles to himself.

"Hey, Neville, give me a hand up."

"Don't worry," says Malfoy and raises an eyebrow. "Potter won't mind, will he?" Without pausing and waiting for an answer, he continues talking, and although Albus' father tries hard to interrupt him, he does not succeed. Mr. Malfoy has a knack for ignoring interruptions. "Besides, I'm here on the same business."

Irritated, Albus notices that Mr Malfoy looks at him again. This time, his gaze wanders down his arm to his pulsating ankles. A vague expression lies on his face before he twists his mouth and bends down to pull Harry out of the uncomfortable grave of chairs.

He is stronger than he looks because he pulls the other man up effortlessly. No sooner is he standing Mr. Malfoy lets go of his arm, as if he had burnt his fingers, and hisses at him: "If you try anything, you'll fly out the window, Potter. Auror or not, you don't fool me!" Again he looks at Albus, then turns towards the door.

"Please come in, Scorpius."

This time, his ears do not glow, although he is looked at closely by all the people in the room, hardly has he set foot over the threshold. Instead, he looks pale, as if he had used up his life force within the last hour. Only the strangulation marks glow purple on the white neck, and Albus involuntarily walks towards him. As he stands in front of his friend, he reaches out for him, but Harry's voice unsettles him, and so his fingertips remain hovering just in front of the back of Scorpius' hand.

"Damn, are those strangulation marks? Albus! Don't tell me you choked Malfoy's child!"

Horrified and panting, Albus winces. The bright green eyes of his father are directed at him, stern and disappointed, but then they widen in surprise as Scorpius lets himself fall against Albus, sobbing. Perplexed, Albus spreads out his arms to catch the other boy. "I did it, Albus!" he whispers against his shoulder. "You were right. I'm so sorry I said such nonsense."

Now the smile finally buries itself in Albus' numb cheeks. "It's okay," he says, wrapping his arms around Scorpius' back. "It's okay. And if not, it soon will be."

With half an ear, he listens to the adults' conversation, which is the result of his father's incredulity, and if Albus didn't need the hug as badly as Scorpius, he would roll his eyes and stomp his foot annoyed. He knows no one who is as resistant to truth, common sense and understanding as his father.

"I don't understand what's wrong with my son. Nothing has ever happened before, but today of all days -"

"Excuse me for saying it this way: Are you sure your brain hasn't perished due to disuse, Potter? How -"

"Do you want to insult me or explain to me finally what he did to your child?"

"That's the sort an auror wants to be? No, really, I feel more insecure than ever in this society, when even our guardians of the law have such tunnel vision! Can't you see your brat choked Scorpius?"

The voices are getting louder and louder, and both Harry and Mr Malfoy have red spots on their faces. They are fixated on each other, never letting their eyes off one another, and for a moment Albus can admirably imagine them quarreling in their school days. He sees it right in front of him; Mr. Malfoy with thicker hair, his father with fewer wrinkles, just as furious and intrigued as at this moment.

Scorpius raises his head to watch the fight as well. Unlike Albus, he does not appear amused, but disgusted. "You'd think that two such old men would get a grip on each other at some point, wouldn't you?" he mumbles and strokes his neck, which probably still hurts him badly, lost in thought.

"And why don't you just say so," cries Harry and clenches his fists, just like Albus always does when he feels challenged. "Instead of arriving with your stupid act - nobody understands your insinuations and offenses as information, Malfoy! You seem to think that with everything -"

"Oh, nobody understands that?" Mr Malfoy laughs coldly and crosses his arms in front of his chest, "Let's try this one: I'll forgo the charges against your son if you keep him away from Scorpius. If you can't get that into his hollow head and he comes near my boy just once more, you won't have much left of him, because an attempted murder at the tender age of sixteen -"

"Hold it, Malfoy!" growls Harry. "First of all, you can calm down, or I'll take you straight off to the interrogation cell, all right? _You_ attacked _me_ , remember?"

Malfoy grimaces as if he'd bitten a lemon. "Sure, Potter. We can't forget that, can we?"

Disheveled by the renewed spike, Albus's father runs his fingers through the tangled hair. "Blimey, Malfoy, if I understand correctly, did you just accuse James, not Albus, of choking your child?"

"Of course! Don't tell me you still don't get it!"

Albus was prepared for anything. That Harry would deny that James was capable of such behavior. That he'd try to make Albus look guilty. That he would accuse Scorpius of lying.

Instead, the man's horrified look wanders across his arm lying on Scorpius' back to the strangulation marks on the boy's neck, only to rest on the swollen ankles of Albus' right hand. The realization visibly seeps through him, tears the color from his cheeks, makes him stagger.

For Albus it doesn't matter much whether his father, long after he has yelled at him and pressed his fingers into his upper arm, at least doesn't assume the worst of him anymore. It doesn't matter to him if it takes witnesses, teachers and other parents to make him realize that Albus doesn't have all the badness in the world inside him.

"You always behave as if I were the biggest disappointment in your life," murmurs Albus. His voice sounds suffocated, and on another day it would have bothered him that everyone can hear the sadness in his words. But he realizes that there is nothing he can do about it. There will never be a better moment to say what remains to be said to him. "You always assume that I am somehow sick in the head because I can't fly or prefer reading to beating others. And I couldn't care less because I'd definitely fucking hate to be like you."

"I don't think you're sick in the head," his father replies as he takes a step towards him. "So far I just haven't understood you, Albus. You are different from us - and that is not a bad thing! After all this I am glad that you have not taken James as an example for yourself..."

For every step that Harry takes towards him, Albus retreats one step back. Scorpius stops where he is, his posture looks lurking, as if he would stand in Harry's way at any time, and even if he would eventually shy away from actually doing it, Albus no longer feels so terribly alone.

"Talk to me, Albus. Let's ... walk over to Hogsmeade and talk. Afterwards we can still decide how to continue. Nothing will happen to you because you saved the boy, right?" Harry stops for a moment and points to Scorpius, a fickle smile on his face. "You defended him. And I'm proud that at least one of my sons has realized -"

_It is as it always is._

_He is not proud of me, just that one of his sons has understood that you don't have to make others suffer._

_But he was proud of James because he flew so brilliantly. He was proud of him because he had improved his OWL's. Because he had found a girlfriend or shat on the rules a thousand times._

_Because he's just like the old James Potter._

"I ... am not going away with you," Albus croaks and takes another step backwards. The window sill presses itself into his back, and his hands clasp around the edge, smudging a layer of dust. All the while he doesn't let his father out of his sight, and so he notices Harry's face distorts in pain. "I saved Scorpius from being strangled by James, and I would do it again."

Albus pauses a second before he strikes the final blow. He has a hunch what he has to say to make his father hate him and it only took this string of suspicions against himself to know that this is what he wants. "Scorpius deserves to be helped, and he is one of the few people in this world for whom that is true. But if James was on fire, I'd put bread on a stick, so save your false pride." He tries to get a dark smile, and whether he succeeds, he doesn't know, but it's not necessary.

Harry Potter throws an apologetic smile around, although no one else takes offence at Albus' words, thus telling him that his plan, his hope of getting rid of the man in this way, has failed. "You don't mean that, I can tell."

His fingers cling to the wood, cling until it hurts, and Albus doesn't know how long he can stand it. He needs time alone to calm down, to take hold, because his angry, hammering heart feels as if it will shoot out of his breast chamber any second. Looking for help, his gaze wanders to Professor Longbottom, but he doesn't notice him because he is talking quietly and concentratedly with Mr. Malfoy.

"Come, Albus. We finally have a chance to survive this madness as a family. To stick together as we must." His arm stretches out to Albus again, and this sight makes the painful throbbing of his upper arm come to the fore again.

When he touches him, something terrible happens. Albus holds his breath, the pressure in his head increases.

And then Scorpius' back takes away his vision, pushing aside the presence of his father. He stretches his arms out back like a shield of flesh, warmth and a heavy, perfumed scent, and although Albus can't see what's going on in the teachers' room (he wouldn't dare look past Scorpius, not so close to the demise of his self-control), he senses that the general attention is on them again.

"What are you doing, boy?", yaps Harry. Albus shrugs and leans his forehead against Scorpius' back, closing his eyes. "This is a family matter and you're not involved in it at all, so stay out of it!"

The pressure on his ears increases. A sharp pain seems to split Albus' skull. _I wish I was somewhere else, anywhere, I just want to get out, get out, get out..._

"Potter, if you give my son even a -"

He feels Scorpius take a deep breath and tense up on his cheek, and that's the only warning he gets before Scorpius bellows. "Leave Albus alone! Can't you see you're making things worse? Take care that your other son learns how to handle humans instead!"

Albus has already noticed that Scorpius can scream very loudly when something challenges him, and that the strong contrast to his otherwise rather shaky voice impresses people at least for a moment. Again, a consistent silence is formed, which is broken only after a minute by Mr. Malfoy, who apparently doesn't find Scorpius' screaming irritating any further.

"I don't know if that's good advice, Scorpius. From what I have heard today, I have to assume that James Potter learned from his father how to treat people in his opinion," he says darkly and laughs.

"Malfoy, just shut your -"

"I think Scorpius is right," Professor Longbottom interferes. He sounds as if he has used up all his patience for today, tense, brittle, somehow fragile. And indeed, when Albus takes a look, he sees that he is furtively massaging the root of his nose. "You've had your chance, Harry, and it's no use pushing Albus. We'd better try to find an appropriate measure to prevent something like this from happening in the future. You should speak to James about this urgently."

Meanwhile, Scorpius' arms tremble, and Albus puts his hands on his elbows to take them down. Scorpius understands, but stops in front of him, his ears now bright red again.

"I'll accompany you to the hospital wing," says the teacher gruffly. "Albus, are you coming with me? Your hand has to be patched up, and Scorpius' neck -"

"Surely you trust me to deal with bruises and haematomas, Longbottom?" hisses Mr Malfoy aggressively.

In fact, Albus would be a hundred times happier if Mr. Malfoy took care of their injuries. He doesn't want to hear another word out of his father's mouth, he wants to forget his hypocritical face, and before he ever has to be in a room with his miserable brother again, he would rather drill himself headfirst through the damn window in his back. Without opening it.

"Absolutely, Malfoy. However, only trained and licensed healers are allowed to take care of students at this school, and that's really not you. As Scorpius' father, you are of course allowed to care for your own child, but -"

"Let's go, Neville," Harry mutters softly. "He can look after Albus as long as he wants to. I'll keep my distance. But only if you promise me, Albus, that you'll write to me or come straight home via floo powder as soon as you want to talk!"

"Okay," Albus gagged out, past the lump in his throat against Scorpius' neck, hoping that one word would suffice. That's all he can give; with each breath the tension in his jaw rises, and he would have to force it apart to open it again.

His skull throbbing, he listens as two pairs of feet leave the room, heavy footsteps echo through the hallway in front of the teachers' room until only the sniffing breath of Scorpius can be heard.

Before his legs give way, Albus staggers forward to the table past his friend and lets himself fall onto an ornamentless wooden chair, supports his elbows on the tabletop and leans his heated forehead against the palms of his hands.

"Good," says Mr. Malfoy straightened up, as if he had just scared away a fly, "you take care of your friend, Scorpius, and I'll make us some tea."

The chair next to Albus' is pulled out, and a moment later Scorpius sits down. He raises his eyes and looks directly at him, his front teeth sunk into his lower lip. Then, unexpectedly, he bursts into loud laughter, and although there can be nothing more inappropriate, it sweeps Albus away, and he laughs until tears run down his cheek.

Tears that were meant for his pillow, for a moment of loneliness, wondering why he was born at all; Scorpius transforms it and its source, and something about this situation fills Albus against all odds with ease.

* * *

Silently Albus and Scorpius watch Mr Malfoy light a fire in the fireplace at the front of the room and put a kettle of water on top. He has turned his back to them and is digging for cups in a cupboard, with a packet of tea falling into his hands. He looks at it in the light of the midday sun with a disgusted wrinkle on his nose, but then opens it and hooks in the tea bags.

He probably wants to keep his hands busy and buy himself time to think, Albus considers, because he can't imagine that a pure-blooded magician like Mr. Malfoy is dependent on making tea without magic. As the water bubbles, he uses a spell to make the kettle float over the cups to fill them. He must have performed this kind of ritual many times, because not a drop goes missing; his wand movements are calm and determined.

Two different cups float slowly through the air and settle gently on the table in front of the two boys. A spicy smell rises steaming into Albus' nose and makes him take a deep breath, softening the pain in his head. Mr. Malfoy carries his own cup to the table before he sits down, and he folds his long fingers around it as if to warm himself before turning to Albus and extending his hand towards him. Albus grabs it without hesitation.

"You are Albus Severus Potter, are you not? Draco Malfoy. Good to meet you. Scorpius has told me so much about you." He shakes Albus' hand gently after a long look at the swollen knuckles.

"Um. Pleasure to meet you, sir."

"Allow me to take care of it," he says quietly, without letting go of Albus' hand. Despite Harry Potter's condition, he does not wait for approval. Albus doesn't mind anyway; he wouldn't have gone to the hospital wing regardless, so he watches with fascination as the tip of the wand hovers over the back of his hand and, accompanied by incomprehensible murmuring, seems to simply absorb the swelling along with the dark coloring. The spell takes away the pain, and for a second his skin tingles until Mr. Malfoy releases his fingers.

Cawing, Albus says, "Thank you, sir," but Mr. Malfoy waves away and smiles.

"I owe you thanks. You have done a great deal for my son, and after all I have experienced today, probably far more than I ever thought possible."

Albus raises an eyebrow in question. "What is it? I just finally gave James what he deserves. Maybe that's not enough, I don't know."

Reluctantly, Scorpius puts one hand on his shoulder. "I told Father everything, Al. Also that I was always alone, until yesterday at least, and that you finally offered me your friendship. I mean, I told him that before, but only briefly. And he also knows about our plan."

Scorpius looks at him imploringly, as if he fears Albus will freak out because he has revealed the vengeful part of his nature to Mr. Malfoy. Maybe that would happen if Albus' head and heart weren't filled with so many things that there's no room for more; if he even knew which fragments of his personality belong behind and which belong in front of his façade.

Darkly chuckling, Mr. Malfoy stirs around with the tea bag in his cup. "It was a good plan with some weaknesses, but the point is that the two of you did something together at all - while each of you pulled your head in on your own. Scorpius knows that it's appropriate not to put up with everything. At least I hope he does."

"I ... Yes, I know that," mumbles Scorpius and also stirs in his tea, his eyes averted. "Of course I know that. But I am alone in Gryffindor, and Potter is something of a star of the house." He wrinkles his nose. "Everyone loves him. Or is afraid of him. And I can't fight my whole house."

"But..." Suddenly, the words dry up in his mouth, although Albus has prepared an entire monologue for Scorpius while listening to him and Mr. Malfoy. Words of thanks and amazement, and they just disappeared, so he quickly takes a sip of Earl Grey and burns his mouth with it. "Damn!" he curses. Then, a little quieter: "But today you started fighting your house. Word will get around that you also fought with James! I didn't think it through; my father is here and knows the truth, and you know he can't keep his mouth shut!"

Against his expectations, a smile spreads across Scorpius' face. "Oh yes, I noticed."

"I can confirm that this is and always has been one of Potter's most outstanding qualities." Mr. Malfoy lifts the cup as if he were toasting with them, then takes a sip. Obviously he regrets it, because he moves his mouth in disgust. "Well, what I was getting at was that you both will benefit from this connection and I would be a bad father if I didn't try to deepen it by every means possible."

Now Scorpius tugs his eyebrows in confusion, causing Mr. Malfoy to roll his eyes before smiling again. "I admit it would have been more like my father saying that. I meant that your friendship has positive effects on you, and that I support you in that. And against Potter, if necessary, should he object."

"I see your point, Father. But all that talk about connections sounded more like one of grandfather's marriage lectures. You never know," Scorpius says sarcastically, burying his glowing forehead in the palms of his hands so he doesn't see the look on Mr. Malfoy's face derail.

Albus overplays his embarrassment by sipping the tea, but Mr. Malfoy has regained his composure and is looking at the boys with an unmoved expression. "Yes, you never know, do you? I never thought it possible that Hogwarts would one day be buried in dust because the government would forbid the rearing of new house elves to serve society. Neither would a friendship between you of all people and the son of my dearest school enemy. Even for possible marriages, I suppose that everything is possible in this day and age, Kiddo."

While Albus tense up until his muscles ache, Scorpius chokes on his tea and starts coughing bloodcurdling. It takes him a while to catch himself, and during this time Albus doesn't let Mr. Malfoy out of his sight. He stirs his tea as if none of this concerned him, and only then smiles disarmingly.

"Your jokes were better once, too," Scorpius gasps with watery eyes and clears his throat. "Don't let Mother hear that. Or Grandfather Lucius. He'd storm our house."

Mr. Malfoy raises his shoulders before he puts his empty cup on the table. "One should not make his jokes or affairs dependent on what others think. You two should remember that."

Albus doesn't know if Scorpius' father realizes that with every sentence, every veiled hint, he's just making things worse and feeding their embarrassment, or if he doesn't care. In any case, he doesn't let himself notice anything as he elegantly rises and straightens his cloak. "Well, Albus," he says, "I'll say goodbye now. Scorpius still has to present himself to the school authorities so that I can finally take care of his neck afterwards. Farewell."

Without paying attention to his obvious irritation, he takes Albus' hand to shake it and walks away. Scorpius also stands up, his gaze lowered, but turns around at the door once more with a red face.

"Listen," he mumbles. "I'm sorry that my father is so embarrassing. I mean -"

Grinning, Albus shakes his head, although he still feels a little queasy. "It's okay. After all, you did forewarn me."

A faint smile spreads across Scorpius' face as well. "I'll be right back, okay? One more time to tell this whole stupid story, then I can be myself again."

"All right. Looking forward to it."

* * *

Albus remains sitting in the teachers' room for a while. His hands cramp around the now cold cup, half of which he has drunk, and he stares into the murky liquid as if he could find answers there.

It is undoubtedly one of those days when just everything happens, and he doesn't know what to do with himself, his thoughts and his feelings. Ever since Scorpius disappeared with his father, the thought carousel has been haunting him again, maltreating him with unwanted memories.

At least his upper arm doesn't hurt anymore, although most likely a blue handprint will be imprinted in his skin layers, and his hand is healed thanks to the help of Draco Malfoy, so that only the tearing in his head remains to torture him physically.

Many words have been spoken between him and his father, but in Albus' opinion there was little substance to them. As long as Harry Potter does not severely punish James, everything he said that morning is completely meaningless, for James will not let even stern words, addressed for once to himself, stop him from holding both Scorpius and him accountable for all of this. Albus doesn't know what he should imagine when he thinks of family unity.

But in that case Mr. Malfoy would report James, and not even his father would be able to stop the avalanche with his bare hands. Unless he would use his influence to sweep the charges under the carpet. Albus snorts and puts his forehead on the tabletop. He would certainly get away with it. He has many friends in his department, and the Wizengamot consists of people who look up to him and are still grateful to him for his efforts in the war, although he has long since ceased to be a person who always makes fair and righteous decisions.

At least not when it comes to his children.

The only good thing about this matter is Scorpius, whose unexpected decision to let his father in on it has given Albus the opportunity to believe in their friendship without betraying himself. He could never have forgiven him if he had let Albus go through this hell alone.

He gave them a chance, even though he called him Al and his father is just as embarrassing as Albus', the joy of it gradually outshines his grief, making him more and more restless until he can't stand it in his place anymore.

At the door he turns around once more, looks at the chairs that are lying untidy on the floor and the three tea cups on the table. A perfect metaphor for today.

* * *

All afternoon Albus roams the school in search of his friend, undisturbed by the teachers who meet him now and then. Word has gotten around; they have only pitying looks for him, but no one speaks to him about the missed classes. That suits him just fine, especially today he is not in the mood for further discussions, but he still wonders what exactly they heard.

Did Professor Longbottom mention what really happened in the teachers' room? A thought that makes Albus shiver with trepidation.

He doesn't find Scorpius, but on his way to dinner he can't help but hear his father's voice once again. Again he screams around, and Albus, who is about to step out of the passage leading to the dungeons, quickly pushes himself into the shadows so that he can listen unseen.

Apparently he has just been on his way to the fireplaces and met Mr. Malfoy there. Albus is not surprised that they are both still at school; Harry must have been looking for a way to nuzzle James in some manner, and Mr Malfoy must have made a fuss with the Headmistress. What surprises him is the cold rage of his father and the words he chooses.

"Even if you don't believe it, Malfoy, I still have friends at this school. Do you seriously think you can take my child away from me? In that case, you are mistaken!"

He doesn't know that tone of voice from his father's mouth. Sharp and caustic, like he's spitting acid, but also strangely high-pitched. He is afraid, shooting it through Albus' head, and when Mr. Malfoy answers quietly, Harry pulls the wand without warning. Threateningly, he holds it towards the other man.

Albus, frustrated that he can't hear Mr. Malfoy's soft reply, squeezes past a few Slytherins who stand there with their mouths open and watch the action. They are not the only ones; everyone who has been on the way to dinner is standing around listening. The two opponents obviously don't care, because now even Mr. Malfoy has raised his wand. Again he is completely focused on his former school enemy. He doesn't notice Albus, who comes to a halt just one foot away from his father's back.

"Don't deny it! I heard what you discussed with Professor McGonagall," hisses Harry. Red sparks shoot out of his wand, one of them burning on Malfoy's cloak.

Mr. Malfoy's face turns red with rage, again showing Albus the startling similarity between him and his child. "Then you must have learned that this is just an offer. The difference is familiar to you, I suppose?"

"A very nice offer, of course! He will accept it, and you know it, but I won't allow that. You have no right to approach him at all!" Harry's voice seems to roll over, and Albus automatically shrugs, because although he is used to the volume, the desperate undertone is completely foreign to him.

"But now he is no longer a little child. He can address whomever he wants," hisses Mr. Malfoy. He tenses his shoulders, then smiles and puts his wand back in his sleeve, raising his hands to his chest as if to signal to everyone that he is unarmed. "And he will approach me, you can be sure of that!"

"You better not have said that, Malfoy!"

Red lightning strikes the ground at Draco's feet, and he flinches back, momentarily out of control. One of his leather shoes seems to be smouldering, and he rubs it restlessly against the other. "You must be out of your mind," Malfoy blows and looks around for the first time. His gaze touches that of Albus, but he does not indicate that he has noticed him. Dark red spots form on his neck, and he strokes a strand of thin hair behind his ear. "It is one thing to attack unarmed people, but there are children present! Do you want to hurt them with a ricochet?"

"Do you see any children on the ground at your feet?" snarls Harry, but puts the wand away nevertheless. "You shouldn't be surprised, when you talk such pedophilic bullshit!"

"Your father's completely off his rocker, isn't he?" someone whispers in his ear, and Albus shrugs. Kaden Fisher, a boy in his sixth year in Slytherin, has bent down to look at him and is interested. "It is not often we are served such dramas so open heartedly." His mocking tone of voice clashes with the encouraging pat on Albus' shoulder, and he is not sure what is meant, so he says nothing.

"What you are accusing me of says more about you than it does about me, Potter," cries Mr Malfoy, now also beside himself with anger. "I am done with you; we will settle the rest in court." Stiff with rage, he stomps to the fireplace, takes a handful of flea powder from the box on the mantelpiece and throws it into the flames, which promptly turn emerald green. Before he climbs in, he throws a hateful glare back, then he is gone.

All of a sudden the spell that had lain over the entrance hall seems to be broken and the students continue their way into the Great Hall to have dinner and talk about the scene that has just taken place in front of them. Of course, this is a wonderful, evening-filling topic for the school's rumor mill.

Harry stares at the fireplace, and Albus notices how he embarrassedly scrapes his shoe across the stone floor. "I'm looking forward to it," he gloomily rumbles, although Malfoy can no longer hear him and no one else pays him any attention. Then he also climbs into the fireplace and floos home.

"Did they talk about you?", asks Kaden, whom Albus has long forgotten, slowly. "Was old Malfoy hitting on you or what?"

Suppressing a nervous cough, Albus bites his lower lip. He would like to know exactly what they were arguing about, but he can hardly leave it at that Mr. Malfoy, who was so nice to him and helped him without "hitting on" him, is accused of such things. "No. My father simply has a brain defect."

Out of the corner of his eye, he looks at Kaden, whose dark skin has reddened. A crooked grin lies on his face. "So Potter is out of his mind. Interesting," he says quietly. "Well, see you later." Full of verve he goes to dinner and leaves Albus with an unpleasant feeling, which he easily recognizes.

Kaden Fisher does not believe him.

* * *

A little lost, Albus hangs around in front of the stairs to the dungeon. He does not dare to enter the Great Hall, where the students are having dinner and, he is sure, discussing his father's outburst. When he goes in, they will without question be silent and stare at him, follow his path to his place at the Slytherin table with their glances and giggle, toasting each other, pointing their fingers at him. Usually he doesn't care; it has happened more than once, because although James has not caused him any physical harm, he is good at making up stories about him that people buy. This evening, however, he can well imagine him bursting into tears when this happens, and then things will start to get really bad.

What frightens him the most is what has undoubtedly already been added. If Fisher has come up with the idea that his father's accusation against Mr. Malfoy is about him of all people, others will have thought of it too.

Worse still, if James is aware of all this, he will happily unfold the story in his own words before them. It's a great opportunity for a boy who is looking for a way to take revenge and who is used to bending the world to his own liking.

Unhappily, he presses his hand against his growling stomach and turns away, just about to go down the stairs to throw himself into his bed, when he discovers Scorpius looking up at him from the landing below.

"Hey, Albus, there you are! I've been looking for you everywhere, I really need to tell you something," he shouts excitedly and runs up the steps.

Even before he stops in front of Albus, he can see what Scorpius is so desperate to tell. A Slytherin emblem emblazoned on his proudly swollen chest, the threads of the embroidery new and shimmering. "We are in the same house, Albus!" A cheerful smile lies on his face, and his light gray eyes shine.

"This is so much better than what I would have to tell you," Albus replies mattely and struggles to grin. "Before you ask, think it over carefully. I can't show my face in the hall anymore because of that. And in class. And anywhere else. Actually, I would have to disappear into thin air in order to be able to continue living at all, so ..."

Maybe he laid it on too thick, but maybe Scorpius doesn't care much about his warning, because he tilts his head and gently asks, "What happened? You can tell me, I-I can take it."

"Not today, Scorp." As Scorpius pulls a face, a real smile buries itself in his cheeks. "I prefer to starve until people's mouths rot away."

"So... until they are dead and rot?"

"At least."

"Then," says Scorpius, dragging him by his sleeve down the stairs behind him, "we'll just go to our dorm room and eat my candy supply. Anything can be tolerated with that, believe me."

Albus lets him pull himself along while he lets Scorpius step forward on the wall to the common room and watches him awestruckly calling the password to his new house.

That he can bear it himself, with candy or without, he has no doubt. Rather, he is worried about whether Scorpius can live with the nasty rumors about his father that Harry Potter is spreading.


	5. Unexpected insight

At night Albus can barely get to sleep. His stomach gurgles restlessly from eating too much sweets, he is way too warm, rolling back and forth but can't find a comfortable position. Again and again the image of his hated father pushes itself violently into his mind. How he grabs his arm and yells at him, how he accuses him of senseless cruelty, forever an echo in his head.

What kind of father does such a thing?

His fingers wander over the blue marks on his upper arm as if of their own accord, circling gently over them like the thoughts in his head. He gazes blankly in the darkness upon the canopy of his bed, where the shadows in the folds seem to spread out flickeringly, and gradually they crawl into his brain convolutions and settle down.

As the son of a decorated war hero and Auror, he has absorbed many lessons with his mother's milk, which other children only encounter much later, when it becomes important to them. Of course, he had to learn at the very beginning that you don't harm other people as long as you can prevent it (a mockery when he thinks of James, which is why he considers this rule irrelevant). He has learned to be afraid of the Dark Arts, which create horrible things, at an age when other children still believe in Santa Claus and happily write letters to his elves. From Inferi, to bodies inverted from the inside out, to a snake emerging from the throat of a long-dead woman, he has been haunted by the most dreadful mental images that have been colorfully painted into his infantile brain.

For nights on end he feared that a werewolf, for example, would smash his window to tear his legs apart while he could not defend himself, and he wet his bed more than once because he dared not to get up and go to the toilet through the dark hallway.

All this to cultivate a consciousness of injustice and a panicky fear of himself, so that he would never give in to anything evil; and what obviously didn't work for his brother, in fact, kept him occupied for most of his existence.

So he knows that revenge brings nothing but more suffering. He has known this for years, and he has almost never felt the need for it, until now, until this night, when he imagines how he can make his father be as alone, desperate and frightened as he has been all his life.

Albus hasn't noticed Scorpius standing next to his bed, and when he interrupts the voices in his head with a whispered, "Can't sleep either?" he shrugs. "Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you."

"It's okay."

Scorpius holds a monogrammed fluffy pillow in front of his chest. "It's just so cold over there, can I...?"

Grinning, Albus moves a little aside until his butt presses against the wall and instead of an answer, raises his blanket. Stiffly, Scorpius lets himself fall onto the mattress, lies down on his side so he and Albus look directly at each other, and swallows audibly.

"You really are a sissy," Albus grumbles and stares at the outline of Scorpius' face, which seems to glow in the cold light of the moon. His body trembles, and he rubs his arms. "If you're freezing in here, how do you feel on top of the Astronomy Tower?"

"Yeah, it's freezing cold up there, but at least I don't have to sleep there."

"Well, we have warmth charms here. Tell me your secret. I'd give anything to be cold at last."

Scorpius giggles. "You're not going to like that answer. It's even warmer in the Gryffindor Tower; you'll get used to it and freeze automatically around the dungeons."

"That's right." Albus rolls his eyes and adjusts his pillow. "I don't like that answer."

Scorpius holds his breath for a while, then asks quietly, "Now will you tell me what's bothering you?"

Moaning, Albus presses his sweaty face into his pillow. The heat that Scorpius' body exudes seems to set his skin on fire. "Did you come here to sleep or to chat? Besides, I've already told you, I don't want to talk about it -"

"You said, and I quote, 'Not today'. It is already tomorrow," he interrupts him gently. "Go ahead."

Inspecting his new friend, Albus ponders how he can explain to him that their fathers screamed, attacked and threatened each other in the entrance hall. This means even more ostensible reasons for the bullying against Scorpius, even more grief when the rumor mill is boiling and marks him as the child of an alleged pedophile. Even if it is complete nonsense, the students will not let him forget that.

"Is it that bad?"

"Yes", Albus says simply. Unsettled, Scorpius strokes his arms, lets the silk of his pajamas rustle softly. His wide eyes are staring at him, and suddenly he can't stand that look anymore and pinches his eyelids together.

"Then it makes no sense not to tell me, Albus. Did someone die? Has You-Know-Who come back from the dead and wants to kill us all?" Gradually, the soft voice distorts in fear. "Do you have... an incurable illness?"

Frustrated Albus rolls on his back and covers his face with his hands. "By Merlin's beard, Scorpius! No, no and no. It's... Our fathers bickered like infants before the assembled student body. They said ugly things, my father's lost his mind and yours is about to sue him. Besides, the whole school probably thinks now that Mr. Malfoy was hitting on me."

His outburst is followed by silence, and it's exactly the kind of silence Albus can't stand; meaningful and oppressive, dead words that thicken the air so that you can hardly breathe it in, so he peeps over to Scorpius between his fingers. He looks as miserable as Albus feels.

Once he has finally pulled himself together, Scorpius shakes his head in desperation. "What was the argument about? Did you hear -?"

"I didn't quite catch it. My father said yours was going to take a child away from him, then it was all about the fact that it was just an offer. Well, then he forbade Mr. Malfoy to speak to him. The child, I think. Your father said that he would approach him, and it sounded kind of funny. So... I thought he meant James. After all, he was going to report him."

Troubled, Scorpius closes his eyes. "No, he wasn't talking about James, he was talking about you. When we were at the Headmistress' Office and my father made a fuss to get me into Slytherin house, our friendship was one of his main arguments. Besides the danger to my life, of course. On that occasion, he also asked her if it was okay to invite you to visit us unofficially."

"Oh. I am the child who will be taken from him?"

"Yeah. It's weird, considering he doesn't seem like he'd like you around just to throw that kind of stuff at my dad." He smiles for a moment until he puts his hand over his mouth. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that!"

Albus waves him off. "Go ahead, it's only the truth. So he wants to invite me, huh? And because of that my dad thinks he's a pedophile or what? That's just totally screwed up."

A deep sigh wipes across Albus' cheek. "At least James doesn't come close to me so easily anymore. Do you know this is the first night I'm not scared of him? Maybe that's why I can't sleep. I don't know how to do it anymore, falling asleep."

"Well, certainly not by constantly babbling," mumbles Albus, but smiles weakly. "I am glad that you are taking it so well. I was worried that you would hide even more when you heard that this time my father himself would make sure that we would still be bullied."

"You're one to talk. Who hasn't been to dinner because of this?"

A choked sound escapes Albus' throat and he gives Scorpius a deliberately grim look, who comments at it with a raised eyebrow. "You weren't there either," he mumbles. Not to actually defend himself or because he would believe in what he is saying, but because he is happy that Scorpius is fooling around with him without stuttering and lowering his gaze.

"But only because I kept you company. After all, I didn't even know what happened at that point. Weren't you, tough guy, afraid to tell me about it too?" The delicate smile on Scorpius' face deepens, revealing once again the dimples on his cheeks that make Albus avert his gaze and suddenly remind him that they are in a single bed.

He resolutely presses his head into the pillow and puts his hands on his face so that they cover it completely. The heat on his skin spreads like a straw fire and he moans irritated. If only Scorpius would shut his mouth! How can he sleep like that and forget the day, or better yet, himself and everything else?

"Shit, Albus," Scorpius suddenly hisses uncharacteristically, "what is that on your upper arm? That's ....."

"My souvenir for today: The love and respect of my father, pressed as firmly as he could into my arm." His tone of voice, although muffled by his hands, sounds sarcastic even in his own ears - and he is quite used to himself and his thoughts. "Guess I'd better wear pajamas like you, too, Scorpius."

Suddenly, fingertips tentatively brush across his maltreated skin, and the heat intensifies, so that he involuntarily thinks he might get sick and just have a fever. "No, your tank top is ... good. You shouldn't hide it, but show it to someone. And I'm pestering you like this all the time while you have to go through this," Scorpius whines, "this kind of thing."

"Stop feeling sorry for me and just sleep!" Meanwhile, Albus feels so uncomfortable that he considers spending his night in the bathroom, next to a pipe full of cold water and the possibility of locking himself in a toilet stall. "I didn't say anything about this for a good reason. Because I hate being treated like this!"

"Sorry," Scorpius whispers, stops stroking and just leaves his hand on Albus' arm, which feels equally strange. "I promise I won't say anything more about it, okay? Just one more thing: What your father did has been prohibited by law. Parents may not hurt their children."

Scorpius' tone is so calm and serious that Albus can't help but wonder how he even knows. He takes his hands off his sweaty face, which is a relief at first, and looks over at Scorpius, who precedes every question in his rash attitude. "My father mentioned this when he explained to me why I am not allowed to see my grandfather alone. He still doesn't permit it, although I'm probably much quicker with the wand by now." Scorpius pauses, then curls his lips into a smile and moves a little closer. "Father always says it like he thinks I care. But I don't want to visit him or anything. He is... really not pleasant."

"I can well understand that," mumbles Albus and suppresses a shiver. He can barely turn his thoughts away from Scorpius' constant touch, but he doesn't want to expose himself by saying anything about it. That would only make it more odd, and he certainly doesn't need that, so he tries to concentrate his thoughts on a more detailed answer. "As far as that goes, I'm probably lucky that my grandpa no longer is alive. My father always says that James is the spitting image of him."

"Wow. Well, I guess we should all be happy about that then."

A shaky laugh rushes out of Albus' mouth, but dies quickly as Scorpius moves a little closer, driving a tension into his body that makes it hard for him to move at all, while the echo of his heartbeat is thrown back into his head, erasing his thoughts. As Scorpius' knee grazes his thigh, the strange effect intensifies, and a mixture of excitement and panic begins to bubble in his stomach.

His expression must reflect some of his discomfort as Scorpius suddenly retreats back to the farthest edge of the already narrow bed and takes the tension with him in a breeze. He pushes his head so firmly into the white pillow that only his red ear sticks out, highlighted by the beam of silver moonlight. "I'm sorry," he mumbles, "that didn't look the way I wanted it to. Let's sleep, okay?"

How did it look anyway?

Perplexed, Albus squints his eyes together as if he wanted to force his body to finally fall asleep, which of course doesn't work. In addition to all the crap he went through that day, he now has to deal with Scorpius, with his damn dimples and his presence, knowing how his knee feels against his leg and how his breath smells. In his mind he curses the pulse that is racing in his ears and the fact that he never noticed how much he really differs from everyone he knows.

* * *

The next morning Albus struggles to get out of bed. His eyelids are stuck together, and when he finally got them apart, he has to realize that they seem to be swollen as well, because his sight is very limited. Scorpius has kept him awake far too long.

To make matters worse, the other boy is still lying next to him, blocking his only way out of bed. Annoyed, he rolls his eyes before he reaches for his pillow next to him. Then he swings out and hits Scorpius straight in the face. The blissfully slumbering expression collapses when Scorpius opens his eyes.

"Let me through. I need to go to the bathroom," Albus growls and rubs his eyes. Suddenly something stings under his eyelid. "Now hurry up!"

Fingers pressed on his aching eye, he watches Scorpius clumsily climb out of bed before bending over and rubbing his back with both hands as if he had strained his back a little. "This bed is just too narrow for two people. And you! You could have woken me up a little softer, after all I have a very light sleep!"

"Of course, that's why you didn't notice that I sat up and swung out the pillow."

Albus climbs out of bed, which is not as easy as he had hoped, because as soon as he can move, he notices his numb right leg. Wavering, he stands up and limps past his housemates in his sleeping clothes into the adjacent washroom. Some fool wolf-whistles at him, and if Scorpius hadn't been there, he would have shaken his butt intentionally. In his experience, provocation is the best way to deal with simple taunts like this, but he doesn't want to risk Scorpius imagining anything funny.

Sighing, he bends over the sink and turns the cold water on fully, only to bend his head down suddenly. The unexpected cold stings on his scalp, water runs into his eyes and nostrils, and he holds his breath, holding his position until he gets dizzy. Only then he turns the water off again and when he rubs his eyes this time, it no longer hurts and his vision becomes clear again.

His hair must have grown again, because it is hanging in the drain and indicates that he will storm out of the room and take a shower in less than five minutes, despite the fact that this will cause him to be late. Wonderful. A day that starts out like this is certainly suitable for anything but feeling better.

He wrinkles his nose and pulls the tips of his hair out of the dark holes in the drain, whose general cleanliness gives little reason for optimism. Last year, he remembers well, Brooke threw up in a sink, and while he clenches his teeth and stomps to one of the toilet stalls, he tries to remember if it could have been just this one, and he curses himself for being so tired that he can hardly think, and the Ministry for the modest funds that can barely pay enough cleaning staff for the school (although household spells generally don't take much time, the castle is just too big to clean it every day).

He locks the cabin door and shivers, because the cold water runs down his back and makes his undershirt stick to his bare skin. Disgusting.

No sooner has he pulled his shorts down, there is a knock on the cabin door from outside. "Everything okay, Albus? I mean, because of right now - because they whistled. I'm sure they didn't mean anything by that, did they?"

"Scorpius, you... Why are you following me to the bathroom? That can wait, I mean -" Albus interrupts himself because he just sounds ridiculous, how he stutters while his thoughts swirl around like leaves in the wind.

He hardly slept at all, and once he did, he was startled because Scorpius had touched him while he was sleeping or snored or something similarly stupid. Besides, he can't get out of his mind what led to Scorpius spending the night in a dorm with him in the first place; his grace period would expire that day and he would see James again. Albus cannot prevent it. He would need a real breakfast after having eaten nothing but forbidden many sweets the day before.

And then there is the not ignorable fact that he needs to wash his hair urgently, because he can almost feel the nastiness creeping up from the tips of his hair.

"Yes, but I was worried that after yesterday at noon it would bother you more than usual. And... Albus, the boys in the dormitory saw the marks on your arm. Why don't you open the door so we can -"

Suddenly he notices that he is still standing in front of the toilet with his pants down, and although Scorpius can't see him like that, his cheeks start to burn. "Do you want to help me or what?", Albus yaps, maybe a bit too rude, but if it drives Scorpius away, then it's fine with him. First, he can't pee if he knows someone is listening to him, second, he has to hurry the hell up.

For a second there is silence, then Scorpius whispers: "I thought you were just hiding ... By Morgana, do I feel silly. Sorry, Albus."

Waiting to hear footsteps leaving the washroom, Albus stands there staring to the ground, but nothing happens. "What is it now?"

"I... I have to go too."

* * *

"Hurry up now!" Albus snaps. He brushes his wet, but at least squeaky clean hair backwards, while a fine trickle runs into the collar of his cloak and coldly down his back.

Scorpius walks behind Albus as if they had unlimited time to come for breakfast. He looks like someone swallowing at something too big for his throat. "I don't get it."

Although he is sure that Scorpius wishes he would stop and ask him what exactly he doesn't understand, he walks a bit faster and grits his teeth. Finally, they have reached one of the longer stairs; if it doesn't change direction at that very moment, Albus would at least have time for a coffee before a tiring double hour of Potions class. This prospect is enough to make him give a crap whether Scorpius will follow him at all, and he sprints down the stairs as fast as he can.

"Hey, just wait a minute! Why are you running now?", Scorpius calls after him.

It sounds as if he's standing at the top of the stairs whose foot Albus has long since reached. He doesn't turn around and pretends not to hear anything. He is mute and deaf and also late. Hasty stomping on the stairs also tells him that Scorpius is finally catching up with him.

"We have at least twenty minutes left until class," he gasps as Albus enters the wide staircase to the entrance hall and remembers the position of the trick steps. "Besides, we would have had much more time if you didn't have to go to the third floor of all places to take a shower!"

Now Albus turns around and an unwanted grin creeps into his cheeks, because Scorpius has turned red again, this time due to the struggle to keep up with him. "The showers on the third floor are always clean, unlike those in the dungeons," he justifies himself. "And, in case you haven't noticed, we don't have any lockable rooms in our house shower. If you prefer communal showers, fine, but I don't feel like showing everyone my butt."

Abashed, Scorpius looks down. Albus leaves him behind and jumps down the stairs, more exhilarated than before. It sometimes seems to him that those little provocations and sarcastic comments, spat out every now and then, fill him with a certain power. Unfortunately, with every step towards the Great Hall, it fades away a little more, because his brother is waiting for him inside, along with lies and scandals that have probably long since got out of control.

Just three feet from the open door, he stops next to some suitcases that have apparently not yet been put away, and looks past a few students, who are standing in the aisle, talking muffled, at the large staff table on the end of the hall. He is relieved to see Professor Longbottom, whose presence alone would prevent the nastiest moves of his fellow pupils. Nevertheless, the noise that pushes against him seems infernal, and he resists the urge to turn around and escape.

Suddenly it is there again; the touch that had cost him all his nerves during the night. Scorpius has put his hand on his upper arm as if to assure him of his support. How could he know that it does not help him one bit?

"Tell me why we have to go in there," mumbles Scorpius.

Because we need breakfast. Because there's no point in postponing the encounter with the others to a later time. Because we're safer there than somewhere else. All this goes through Albus' mind, but instead of saying it, he causticly says: "Oooh, so now your admirable courage to face your tormentors shows. How good that you were so modest that night, Scorpius, one could easily get the idea you were a superhero."

"Please", Scorpius snaps back without taking his hand off his arm, "I'm not going to ruin other people's breakfast just to wash my damn hair for the tenth time in one morning!"

A tingling sensation runs through Albus' stomach and he turns to Scorpius with a grin, "What breakfast have I spoiled for you? It's right there!" He spreads his arms out in front of him. "All you have to do is take a few steps and you can stuff anything you want down your throat."

"This undignified exertion in the early morning has made me lose my appetite."

"Pussy."

"How eloquent," Scorpius grins. Then he adds, suddenly serious again, "No, honestly, why did you even need to in the first place? Running up, taking a shower, then back down again. As far as I know, you already had wet hair."

"It was hanging in the drain," he replies uneasily, but Scorpius, who tilts his head questioningly, just stares at him, annoyingly intense. Albus has never talked about this topic before, so he thinks about it for a while. "I may not have a problem with viruses and bacteria... And fungi. Not as a wizard, at least not directly. You can conjure stuff away, but I can only stop thinking about it after I've scrubbed it off. Otherwise I'll wonder all the time whether I'm really clean," he finally explains.

"Ooookay," Scorpius says exaggeratedly slowly. "Then how did you bear to sleep in the same bed with me?"

An annoyed growl pushes up his throat. "I was distracted by your snoring!"

Indignant, Scorpius blows up his cheeks and opens his mouth to reply, when he is interrupted by a loud hrumph. Both boys twitch and turn around simultaneously.

Behind them stands Harry Potter in a dark blue cloak, whose wrinkle-free cleanliness stands in sharp contrast to his otherwise rather run-down appearance. He is unshaven, his hair shaggy and uncombed as it hasn't been in a long time and under his eyes lie deep shadows, making him look as tired as Albus. He clearly doesn't seem to feel at ease.

"Good morning, Albus. Morning, Scorpius." He nods to them and seems to be waiting for an answer, and while Scorpius greets him back well behaved, Albus can't move, because a stream of panic floods through him.

What if he has come back to punish him after all?

"Are you not feeling well, Albus?" he asks and scratches his neck. "It's probably my fault. I, uh... I was up all night thinking about everything that went wrong. It was quite a lot, even long before the christmas holidays, but I think that I have made a lot of mistakes since then." He pauses, as if hoping that Albus would respond, but he can't imagine opening his mouth; he suddenly feels terribly sick.

"Of course, nothing can really excuse what I have done. I can only hope that at some point you will forgive me. Until then, I'll try to make it up to you, okay?"

Without warning, something sinister is oozing out of Albus. "You can't possibly make anything up, Dad. Whatever you do, it won't be enough to fix anything but your own pathetic conscience. You've been thinking about it all night, okay, that's really great. But all you know is what you've seen, and I can guarantee you that there are a thousand other things that won't let go of me and that came out of your direction. Some of them I could have done without, and it would have been really nice if I had a choice!"

It comes to his mind how he wished in the night that his father would end up just as alone and broken as he was, and this part of his being, hitherto hidden from the world, seems to be forcibly drawn to the fore. "What does mother actually say to all this misery? Did you write to her and explain what was going on in the family on the first day you were solely responsible?"

While he clearly feels that he is losing control of himself, Albus nests on the button-facing of his cloak, then strips it off his shoulder. After the shower, he simply put it over his tank top, as if he had foreseen the benefits of light clothing, but in fact he was merely in too much of a hurry for proper clothing. Whatever the case, the large, bright red-blue spot is clearly visible thanks to his translucent skin, striking enough to render the rest of him almost unreal. "Does she know that your unfair temper was no longer enough for you?"

His father's eyes widen in shock, and he inhales sharply. Then he takes a step back without averting his gaze.

Meanwhile, Albus feels as if he had thrown up; powerless, tense, but also somehow, in a perverse way, relieved. The darkness in his chest tightens until it is as inconspicuous and imperceptible as it was before, and he covers the bruise involuntarily with his trembling hand.

"I never thought I would be capable of something like this," says Harry tonelessly. "It frightens me deeply; I didn't even realize how firmly I had gripped you. It all went so terribly wrong. You are my son, and I love you. I'm so very sorry."

A bloodcurdling sob drifts up through Albus' chest and his vision becomes blurred. He doesn't know exactly what he feels, but it leaves him fragile and sore as tears run down his cheeks.

Without approaching him, his father gently says, "And yes, I have spoken to your mother. She suggested that I take you to another school so that you can finally learn and grow in peace. She may be right about that, but I have made a different decision."

Sketchily, Albus sees through the veil of tears how he turns away and stomps into the Great Hall. He still can't move, even when Scorpius bends down and pulls up his cloak to wrap it back around his shoulders. That he even buttoned it up as if he were Albus' surrogate mother would have earned him a mean comment on any other day.

Unable to say or do anything, he lets Scorpius dress him, who also remains silent. When he is finished, he puts a hand on Albus' shoulder.

"Come. I think you want to see this," he mumbles and pushes him forward.

* * *

Before Albus enters the hall more reluctantly than willingly, life flows back into him, and he inconspicuously wipes cheeks and eyes with his sleeve. Hardly anyone takes notice of them, but before he can sigh with relief and head towards the Slytherin table, he hears his brother's voice, which penetrates through the noise to his ears.

"Please, folks, a big applause for my brother Albus, who has once again succeeded in surpassing his previous atrocities!"

Hundreds of pairs of eyes look at him and he instinctively shrugs. James, who is sitting in the middle of his house table, stretches his arms in Albus' direction, his blue eyes sparkle maliciously. The bruise he caused to James the day before has healed, but of course he won't let it sit on him.

Through the weight of his schoolmates' glances, he discovers his father pressing himself against the walls. He looks as if he would throw up at any moment. Perhaps James would finally dismantle his facade, show his true face, for he has not yet noticed that Harry has paid another visit to the school. Albus quickly averts his gaze.

"As I have heard, he has been involved in a particularly piquant scandal!" James' voice swells as if he were a circus director announcing his next show, and Albus realizes that this could be the worst embarrassment he will ever have to endure. The panic tugs at his bowels, nausea rises inside him.

"Just shut your filthy mouth, Potter!" cries a girl from the Slytherin table.

"I knew you Slytherins would take his side, but if I were you, I'd think twice!" Grinning, he pauses to increase the tension. Albus would love to look away and cover his ears, but he can't; it's too late to protect himself from what's coming at him. "In the end he'll fuck your fathers too, and that could be enormously embarrassing!"

As a whisper and murmur rises, he laughs gloatingly and looks directly into Albus' glowing face. "I have learned from a reliable source that you are involved with Scorpius Malfoy's father, and in your place I would end my worthless life, because you will never get out of that pigeon-hole!"

So there it is: James' revenge for the one injury Albus ever inflicted on him. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Professor Longbottom approaching. His face glows red, and he seems to tremble with anger. For a moment, Albus wishes he could get angry himself, perhaps to punch James again, at least break his nose this time, but all his strength has flowed through his legs into the ground, and the noise of the students is increasingly drowned out by the dull thumping in his head.

He looks over to Scorpius, who by now is clutching on to his cloak. Amazed, he notices that he doesn't look half as shocked as Albus feels. Rather, he seems fascinated. Suddenly the corners of his mouth lift slightly.

As Albus follows his gaze, back to James' place at the Gryffindor table, he sees his father standing unnoticed behind his chair, arms crossed in front of his chest. He wrinkles his nose, twists his mouth as if he were disgusted, but he doesn't talk to James, he seems to be waiting for the right moment. Even a few students notice the unusual visit. Some nudge their seat neighbor and nod over to him to make them pay attention.

Professor Longbottom remains standing in front of the table and blinks in Harry's direction as if he thought he was an apparition that could disappear with the blink of an eye.

James, relating his professor's gaze to himself, bows slightly. "Please forgive the fuss, Professor Longbottom," he says slickly, "I didn't consider how upsetting this announcement would be. But surely you agree with me that the other children must be warned. No one wants to catch their father with a classmate, I'm sure, and -"

With every word James strikes a deeper blush onto his teacher's face. "However you try to justify it, James, you have no right to spread such rumors," says Professor Longbottom aloud. "For this insolence, I deduct two hundred points from Gryffindor."

The smirking on the faces of James' friends fades, and while some of the seventh-graders twist their eyes or shake their heads disapprovingly, James smiles apologetically into the round. "Of course, Professor. I am terribly sorry that I told the truth, which everyone with more than two brain cells has already recognized anyway."

Behind James, Harry opens his mouth to finally interfere, but Professor Longbottom doesn't pay attention to him. "And for this heartfelt apology, the Gryffindor house may take leave of another fifty points. We can go on like this forever."

"But my father himself said it," exclaims James, an anxious undertone slowly creeping into his voice. "I swear to you, yesterday in the lobby -"

It's like a moment out of a crappy theater play, in which every viewer has already noticed where the scene leads and boredly fans the air with the program, but the actors still bravely try to play their parts, and Albus wonders when James finally realizes that he won't get any applause at the end of the performance.

Instead of saying anything, Professor Longbottom looks over at Harry Potter, his mouth twisted in disapproval, and that is the moment when anyone who hasn't noticed him before becomes aware of the man. James, who still hasn't turned around, writhes slightly.

Maybe he suspects it, maybe it is due to the negative attention of his housemates, which he is not used to. The confident attitude has now completely flowed out of James and he is stiffening noticeably.

"What I said was a mistake, James, but for you to twiddle the words in my mouth and embarrass Albus publicly is just outrageous, nothing more," growls Harry. James winces and eventually turns around.

Although Albus anticipated the panic he had always felt would shoot through his brother, the opposite happened. His mouth curls into a smile and he raises his shoulders. "I'm sorry, but I couldn't have known that it was probably not true."

The corners of their father's mouth bend down a little more. "Of course not", he yaps. "But as Professor Longbottom said, you have no right to expose another human being in public."

"Well, then stick to that yourself! What do you think you are doing here, in front of my friends!", James shrieks and jumps up. Like Albus, he is taller than her father, but the man's superiority is only made more obvious by this outburst. He does not flinch, and like Mr. Malfoy the day before, he radiates a kind of relentless power that Albus has never seen in any of his schoolmates. Perhaps that is what people respect when they speak reverently of the great Harry Potter.

"Think carefully about whether you really want to continue this." He waits a moment while James snorts angrily and crosses his arms in front of his chest. "Since you' re deaf to admonitions, I'm exercising my right as a father and take advantage of one of the many opportunities to give you a little education. Merlin knows that you need it. Or would you have preferred I sent you howlers one by one?"

Without going into it, James clenches his fists. Frustrated, he shouts: "What did I actually do to get you to show up here and suddenly act like a father?

"Well, you choked another student, attacked Albus numerous times, and thus impressively demonstrated to us that you are guided by nothing but base motives. Therefore, I will -"

"I don't understand! For years it was okay for you, and now all of a sudden you come along and want to punish me!"

"That's why I'm gonna take you out of school for at least a month, James. Your behavior is inexcusable, and I just can't risk you bullying other kids anymore."

Albus's stomach lurches, and the excitement almost makes his heart pound against his ribs. Although, or perhaps because he has wished all these years that his father would open his eyes and finally see James with different eyes, he can't truly believe what he hears and sees.

"No! You can't do that, Dad, what about - what about schoolwork? I'd miss everything, and that -"

"I have already taken care of that. Headmistress McGonagall will kindly provide us with the subject matter you're missing."

"You don't understand, I can't leave here! I'm a beater, my Quidditch team is counting on me. And there are more tryouts next week, and if I'm not there, I'll lose my position!" It's a desperate attempt to soften the heart of a former Quidditch player, but before James has finished his interjection, Albus sees that he won't succeed. Their father's red-stained expression seems reserved.

"Add this to the list of things you should have thought about before. You're at an age when most children can be expected to rethink the consequences of their actions," says Harry, a relentless harshness in his voice.

A howl emanates from James' mouth, and he pulls his already tousled hair. "You've never punished me before, how could I have known that before?"

At this point Albus instinctively shakes his head. Even though his parents never really enforced their rules, James, just like Albus and Lily, had to listen to lectures on right and wrong. It was also explained to him that one should behave towards others as one would like to be treated. Surely it can't be such a big surprise to him that it goes way too far to choke another boy!

"As I said, you are undoubtedly old enough. When I was sixteen years old, I had known for a long time what was good and right, and that without asking anyone to do the thinking for me. Enough of this discussion! Your suitcases are packed, you have been dismissed from school until further notice, and you will now leave with me."

With his arms folded across his chest, James lets his butt fall onto the chair. "No. You can't make me. I'm not going with you, I'm not leaving school and I'm not leaving my friends just because you don't understand that this is how life works!"

The defiance displayed by James puts a shaky smile on Albus' face, and he's not the only one who is amused by this drama. Some laugh outright, and James' cheeks turn red.

Curling the corners of his mouth, Harry Potter lifts his arm in front of his face before shaking it dramatically towards the ground, causing the wand to slip from the halter into his hand. "You know that I, as Auror, have ways to get you to cooperate. Of course this is terribly embarrassing and unnecessary, but at least you have the choice you didn't grant others. I recommend that you be glad and grateful that I don't have to arrest you, because if the boy's father had pressed charges against you, you wouldn't have been spared this. Now!"

For a second, James stares his father in the face. Then he slowly gets up and walks towards the gate under the stares of his schoolmates. Before he goes out, he turns to Albus once more. Consumed by his hatred, but incapable of doing anything, he merely glances at him, letting his almost tangible desire to kill sink into his brother.

"This is the best day of my life," Scorpius murmurs with bright eyes and shows James a rude gesture with his fingers. "Albus, you... Is something wrong?"

Disbelievingly, Albus watches his father wink at him before he shakes hands with Professor Longbottom and pushes James out of the hall. Of course he will be happy about his brother's terribly humiliating departure, maybe even that day, but right now he just feels squashed.

"Now we'll definitely be late," he mumbles softly.


	6. Secrets and blunders

Four weeks have passed since James' involuntary departure.

With great astonishment, Albus observed a change in his new friend's behavior. At first, only the depressed appearance that surrounded him all the time has disappeared; he laughs much more often (his dimples regularly give Albus a sting in his stomach, and although he would confide many things to him, he covers up this enchantment as best he can). Meanwhile, Scorpius takes his life so little seriously that it's already getting on Albus' nerves because he doesn't actually feel any better despite the absence of his brother.

The likable and awkward nature of his friend still shines through when they are around people, and also sometimes when Albus loses his nerve and snaps at him. But when they are among themselves, he seems to have much more confidence in himself than Albus ever thought of him.

This is good because, on one hand, the new Scorpius impresses him. A boy who takes the initiative when he wants to do something instead of waiting for Albus' approval or hesitating because it might go wrong, but not hurting anyone else or even looking down on one. Potentially an actual friend who challenges him in equal measure and yet cares and is there for him.

What Albus doesn't like about this is the strange attraction that goes along with it and pushes the destruction of his self-confidence further. He often wonders what person who has beauty and money in equal parts and who returns to a happy family during the vacations to strengthen his back, would want from him at all, now that he has reached his goal and changed his house.

For now, doubting Scorpius' sincerity is only a sprout, but Albus fears that one day his thoughts will overgrow their friendship, just as the desire for revenge sometimes does when he thinks of his father.

The weekend after the embarrassment in the Great Hall, his mother sent him a letter from the Holyhead Harpies' coaching camp. Loving and understanding words that tugged at him and upset him instead of reassuring him. To this day he has not taken the time to expose himself to this feeling once more and to answer her. In fact, every time he thinks about it, he finds a new excuse.

Then there is this letter from his father.

A few days later, Albus has just hidden behind the statue of Elijah the Earthbound to avoid Rose Weasley, who has been meeting him in the corridors as if by chance ever since the scene in the entrance hall and tries to talk to him.

Before Albus was sorted into Slytherin, and even a few months later, they were friends. At some point, they just stopped talking to each other. Albus, who by then had already had difficulties with his father, not to mention his brother's nasty jokes, did not question her retreat any further. What else could be the reason for it? As for everything else, he knows his former friend, and that's exactly why he pushed himself against the hermit's marbled, leaf-covered butt and waited until the clatter of her heels had subsided.

_Of course, she only wants to grumble at me because her damn house has been weakened by James' absence_ , ran through his head when an owl landed perfectly balanced on his shoulder and dug its claws into his flesh.

Well, this bloody letter.

At first, Albus didn't want to read it at all, because his father's jagged handwriting on the envelope had already given him a jolt in his stomach. He carried it around with him for an entire day before his dark curiosity overwhelmed him, expecting Harry to pour love and pride over James, just like before.

Minutes later, he had nothing left but regret; his father wrote that he understood him, for now, James would run against him with his stubborn concrete skull, and he definitely had something mean about him he was trying to drive it out.

For some reason, it has completely thrown Albus off track.

He usually thinks through each of his emotions in an effort to hide them behind a superior husk. Until now, he had the impression that it would be easier for him if the whole world believed he didn't care; but he feels the facade crumbling and his true self shining through the now deep cracks.

As if he were cursed, something prevents him from identifying why he feels so terrible, and he can't even say whether it is related to his victory over James or the reaction of his parents.

It's Monday morning, and for once they are not late. The night before, Albus insisted that he and Scorpius would spend the night in separate beds, hoping to find out what was wrong with him without the constant distraction from his own thoughts. Usually, he can't think of anything but the sleeping boy right next to him for a second.

Scorpius accepted his wish with a grumble and woke him up at the crack of dawn.

Sleepily blinking into the darkness he tries to focus his gaze on his friend, but his outlines remain blurred. A yawn trembles in his chest and he stretches heartily before he moans restrainedly. "What time is it?" he croaks.

"A little after six," says Scorpius in a firm tone of voice that tells him he has been awake for quite some time. "I'm going to the library and was wondering if you'd like to come along."

Albus crosses his arms in front of his face. "Why should I get out of bed in the middle of the night just to read?", he mumbles dully. "We do nothing else anyway."

"Yes, but there are always other people around us. Now we would probably be alone. If that's not a reason..."

The mattress lowers a bit in the middle and suddenly Scorpius leans against him, driving the excitement back into his body, which reacts in a way Albus has learned to fear in the last few weeks. It scorches him inwardly before it presses itself on his cheeks and he becomes as red and heated as Scorpius, and this reaction is one of those he cannot control. How often he has wiped his cheeks with cold water in the last few weeks to cool them down at least a little, he can't say with certainty, only that it happened far too often.

Scorpius doesn't seem to notice anything at all, as he bends over and pushes Albus' arms away from his face. Grinning, he glances down at him. "You could at least look at me before you give me a rebuff, Albus."

Staring at these damn dimples, the idea creeps into his brain - Scorpius knows exactly what he is doing. "If you don't let go of my arms right now and leave so I can go to the bathroom, you'll never see the library again," Albus presses out.

A dark laugh against his cheeks, a moment in which Scorpius looks him challengingly in the eye, his brow raised, then he lets go of him and stands up as if he intended nothing else.

* * *

On the way to the library, a tense silence has spread between them, a silence fed by the unusually quiet atmosphere of the castle. It is dark, cold, and much too early, and Albus' thoughts are as fleeting as his breath, which condenses in rapid bursts in the air, only to dissolve again in the blink of an eye.

Last night's hope that Scorpius' absence would finally allow him to analyze and control his feelings has long since faded from him, causing a deeply disgruntled sigh to rise from his chest. Nothing seems to work as he is used to, because all he has managed to do during the night is to lie in bed with his heart pounding wildly, his hands clawed into his pillow, his entire willpower concentrated on not thinking about Scorpius.

He did not succeed, and when he finally fell into a restless sleep, his dreams were filled with images that still infuse him with shame even now.

If he had known that, he certainly would never have watched Scorpius changing clothes.

Only when Scorpius grabs his arm does Albus realize that they have arrived at the library. The long rows of shelves barely stand out from the blackness of the night like the rock walls of a cliff, and the impression is reinforced by the cold wind whistling through an open window.

Although Albus is not freezing, he wraps his arms around his chest. Despite his embarrassing dreams and the unreliability of his brain, he wishes to return to his comfortable bed.

Scorpius enters through the double doors as if a bit of wind couldn't keep him away from whatever he's up to and turns immediately to the left. At the side of each row of shelves he passes, a magic torch ignites and casts a flickering shadow of their black iron fixture on the floor.

Apparently, he knows exactly what he is looking for, and Albus trots listlessly behind him. Even if he were to lie down in bed now, it would be a hopeless endeavor, because that morning Scorpius himself kindly made sure that his sick brain had a few more pictures available to torture him.

Shuddering, he thinks of how he was awakened; how Scorpius bent over him to pull his arms out of his face, how he held them next to his head for a moment, his butt close to his - before he realizes what he is doing, it is long too late.

Once again his cheeks radiate that damned heat, but it's not just that; the horrible tension has seeped between his legs and fills him with that gnawing excitement that neither belongs in public nor near Scorpius.

Ashamed, he abruptly turns around and creeps deep into a hallway of shelves until the flickering light no longer reaches him, so that Scorpius can hardly find him until he calms down. A glance down confirms his suspicion that his condition is clearly visible under his tight cloak, and once again he curses these bloody dress codes of his school.

If only he could wear a cloak like the teachers, as wide and puffy as he likes, he wouldn't be in such distress now.

Disheartened, he tugs at his pants in a hopeless attempt to arrange himself so that his condition is less conspicuous, but he only makes it worse, and slowly his knees begin to shake.

"Hey, Albus, where are you?", Scorpius shouts from somewhere further back.

He gasps quietly and looks around for anything that could help him now. On the shelves, he finds nothing but potion books, and he tries to concentrate on the recognizable titles on the spines of the books to fight his arousal. After a short time, however, he digresses again to the morning. Why the hell can't Scorpius hold himself back, why does he have to provoke these irritating... misunderstandings over and over again?

"Did you fall asleep somewhere?" A deep laugh. "I wanted to show you something, and besides, I need to talk to you. Come on."

_If you see this, you'll never talk to me again._

Which might not be such a bad idea, because Albus is sure that with time it will get worse rather than better. What if he loses more and more control over himself and in the end just jumps at Scorpius, kisses him, and rubs himself against him like a damn lunatic?

This notion, although tinged with a slight undertone of fear, does not help to calm Albus' suffering, and in his generally insane state, matching images promptly flood into his skull as if he had already stored them in his mind, ready to be retrieved.

He hears the thudding of fast steps approaching on the stone floor and presses his back against the shelf as if he could hide by it. Squinting his eyes, he tries with all his might to disappear into thin air.

Of course, he is not exactly successful in his efforts, but one of his wishes comes true anyway because a short time later Rose Weasley strolls in his direction as if by pure chance. She breathes quickly like she has hurried and strokes her long, dark red hair backward, only then to muster him with feigned surprise.

With her big brown eyes and a thick mane of hair, she is very pretty, and unlike other girls in her age group, she doesn't try to hide her true face behind makeup, and Albus once accidentally overheard a conversation of his housemates in which they admitted quite openly that they would certainly not push her off the edge of the bed, Gryffindor or not. One of them was visibly aroused.

Nevertheless, her presence alone is enough to make his lust slip out of him with a jerk.

"Morning," she says emphatically cheerfully, waving a thick book, the cover of which looks greasy and worn. "I'm glad I met you here. I've been hoping to talk to you for a while, we haven't seen each other outside of class for ages!"

"Almost, Rose. You know that I know you're lying, so what's this nonsense?" Albus snaps more angrily than intended. He doesn't care that Rose flinches, because he knows that she has been stalking him for the past month just to blame him for James' stupid behavior and the loss of points that Gryffindor has suffered.

Considering that she has witnessed the bullying of Scorpius, she gets off cheaply with Albus' open hatred, besides the fact that the extra distraction is all he needs, so he puts on his meanest smile and crosses his arms in front of his chest.

"Fine, then we can stop the banter." With all her strength she slams the book into the shelf, right next to Albus' ear, and laughs, as now he too flinches. Then she leans right next to him and fills the air with the smell of the Muggle detergent that his aunt loves so much. "I want you to stay away from Malfoy."

For a moment Albus freezes, as he does every time he is mistaken, and his fingers claw painfully into his armpits. Then he clenches his teeth. "How nice. Anything else or is that all?", he growls.

Rose sighs. "I assumed that cutting the crap would mean I should come straight to the point," she replies soberly, "but okay. There's a lot you don't know about your new buddy. Will you let me explain it?"

Whatever she has to say doesn't interest Albus, and there's no question that none of what she believes is true, so he turns away from her. "No. See you." He's about to walk past her as she blocks his path.

"Give me a chance," she asks quietly, unagitated as if another no wouldn't throw her off track either, and for some reason, he wants to give her the chance for this sake alone. "I'm not saying this because I want to ruin anything for you but to protect you. It was bad enough the other day," a gloomy expression lies on her face, "in the Great Hall."

"That was James' fault, Scorpius had nothing to do with it."

"In a way, he did." She strokes the strand of hair again behind her ear and turns her gaze to the ground. "You know James and his friends played a pretty rough game with Malfoy -"

"Yes, and I also know that you didn't even try to help him!" Albus interrupts her annoyed. "Probably he would never have felt so bad if at least one of your heroes had tried -"

Unimpressed by his obvious agitation, Rose shakes her head, the strand of hair falling back into her face. "I don't deny that, but that's not the point. Once James stole his bag. Inside was a book that caught his eye because it was handwritten. He thought it was his diary or something and ripped a page out of it before one of the seventh graders took it away from him again."

"So? That's one example where squealing to a teacher wouldn't have been exactly dishonorable!" Professor Longbottom comes to his mind, who probably could have prevented all this if Rose had just told him, and he shudders.

"He only tore out one page," she says, shrugging her shoulders as if James' act was less despicable because he only took out a page. Albus' nose wrinkles and he twists the corners of his mouth in disgust. "It didn't say much, only: _I as Malfoy cannot allow myself to give in to this little rat, but I know I will. Potter is worth it, and he always will be_."

After all, she blushes, Albus credits her with that, because his cheeks are beginning to glow, too, and so at least he is not alone in being embarrassed. "But what does that mean? This can only be a fake, it never was -" he croaks.

"He has kept this page for ages, probably to tease Scorpius with it one day. When Harry called old Malfoy a pedophile in the lobby, he showed it to me and asked me if this was Scorpius' handwriting. He sits next to me in History of Magic, so I know that" she added after looking at Albus' disgusted expression. "Well, it wasn't his, and I told him so."

"So you... So it's your..." Albus closes his mouth, tries to order his thoughts, while a spark of rage ignites in his belly. "You gave James the idea Mr. Malfoy was hitting on me -"

Raising her hands to her chest, Rose rolls her eyes. "I didn't say it was Mr. Malfoy's handwriting, and certainly not that he meant you by 'little rat'."

"But you do know that James thinks he can get away with anything just to hurt me. And above all, Scorpius! He's got it hard enough without -"

Rose snorts contemptuously. "Oh, yes, let's not forget Scorpius at all! Think about it, Albus - he had this book in his bag in the first place, and who in his right mind would carry his father's diary around with him?"

Admittedly, it sounds strange, but Albus would rather chew on a soup spoon full of broken glass than agree to Rose, so he clenches his jaw until it crunches in his ears.

"You can't blame Scorpius if James just decides to steal his bag. What do you think I'd find if I took yours away just because I could? If I then spread the contents out in the hall at breakfast in front of everyone, is it your fault if there's something embarrassing about it? What bullshit," he grumbles through his teeth.

"But he is," replies Rose quietly, and a moment later she smashes his world into a thousand splinters. "James would never have fired at him like that if Scorpius hadn't tried to kiss him."

A desperate laugh drips over Albus' lips, and Rose raises her eyebrows as if doubting his state of mind. For a second he clings to the thought that she is mistaken, that it is just another lie James has been telling, but the doubts about Scorpius' sincerity have been gnawing at him for so long that he can't wipe them away now more than ever.

Still, that doesn't mean Albus believes her.

"And when was that kissing attempt supposed to have been? After all, James has been bullying Scorpius since his first year," says Albus croaking as he calms down somewhat.

Instead of answering his question, Rose takes a deep breath before examining him. "You don't believe me."

"That's right."

"But you should," she calmly answers. "I have seen it."

"You... No. Come on, it's impossible."

Rose says nothing more, but she doesn't have to. Like Albus and Scorpius, Rose has few friends, and one of the reasons in her case is that she doesn't lie just to make life easier for others. He gradually realizes that he was kidding himself when he has been dodging her for the past few weeks to avoid having to talk to her.

Maybe he knew long ago, somewhere deep in the coils of his brain, that everything about Scorpius was far too good to not be a mere lie.

"When?"

Still, she doesn't answer. Desperately, Albus clutches the sleeve hem of his cape as he tries to hold back his feelings. They storm in on him, pushing him airlessly under the floods of his own darkness, and now he realizes what has been bothering him for the past month. He would have confided everything to Scorpius, even his darkest thoughts, completely contrary to his feelings at the very beginning of their friendship. A hunch that turned out to be true in the end.

Now it's too late to protect himself. Albus has let Scorpius into his life. He has gotten used to sleeping next to him, to his damn snoring and his long legs that sometimes twitch uncontrollably during sleep.

"When did he try to kiss James, Rose?" Albus sobs and a blink of an eye later tears run down his cheeks. It's embarrassing and inappropriate that he starts crying because of it, but he can't suppress it, so he presses his sleeves to his eyelids in order to at least immediately absorb the moisture.

"That was about a week after the start of the school year," she replies. Albus can hear the amazement from her voice, although his pulse is pounding loudly in his ears. "Listen, you don't have to cry. James is still an absolute arsehole. He threatened to lie to my parents and tell them I slept with Avery if I told anyone. Maybe he was afraid that someone would think he was desirable or whatever if the kissing story got around."

In tears, Albus laughs shakily, and even Rose smiles wryly.

"In my opinion, he cannot be punished too often." She taps him clumsily on the shoulder. "And he still didn't have the right to pick on Scorpius about it. He was totally shy and cautious and James didn't exactly put up a fight. He stared at him for five minutes, then he slapped him and ran away. That made them even, didn't it?"

_Did Scorpius like it?_

_Was he happy, believing that James was getting into it, five minutes long?_

_Why didn't he kiss me?_

Urgent questions that require an answer to keep him from going mad with grief. Fortunately, they get lost on the way through his mouth and he asks instead: "Why did you tell me now?"

"James can't do anything to me anymore. My parents know why he is at home, because Harry told them, and it would be a miracle if they suddenly believed James. That's how we know too, by the way. Mom took us aside, even Hugo, and talked to us about how we should never hurt or embarrass anyone." She rolls her eyes. "As if we didn't already know that. She probably thinks that we are among the popular kids here and therefore don't know how it feels. And besides... you're never seen without Scorpius, never. You are always with him, and before he tries to kiss you as well, I thought I'd better give you a little warning. Especially now that you're finally alone for once."

As Rose brings it up, Albus wonders why Scorpius hasn't shown up long ago. It is possible that he got distracted by some book, but it is not likely. For that, he was far too eager to go with Albus. He is probably standing angrily behind the bookshelf and hears every word.

"The way you're crying, I'm too late with it, aren't I?", Rose asks, her eyes narrowed to slits, and examines him thoroughly. "He kissed you, but since you're still hanging around with him, it didn't bother you as much as James. That is then of course ..." She puts her hand on her forehead. "I'm terribly sorry. I didn't mean to break anything. I really didn't."

"He never... kissed me."

Rose tightens the eyebrows and tilts her head. She reminds Albus of a cat that doesn't understand how the fat moth could escape from her, and he suppresses a dark laugh. "Strange," she just says and reaches for the greasy book she slammed on the shelf earlier. "If I can help you in any way or you want to talk, you know where to find me. I'll be going now. So long, Albus."

"Bye."

He watches her hurrying out of the library and wonders how he could have ruined his life so badly in just one month.

* * *

Not a minute after Rose's farewell Scorpius wavers along the aisle. He is pale and looks stubbornly toward the ground, telling Albus that his hunch was right. He has overheard their conversation. The only question is how much he heard.

"Is it true?" Albus asks as he comes to a halt two feet in front of him. "Did you kiss my stinking, disgusting, nasty brother?"

At first, he feels nothing, but when Scorpius abashedly nods, his stomach acid bubbles up into his gullet. He gasps and leans his forehead against the shelf, feeling drops of his sweat seep into the linen covers of the books.

"I don't understand this. He torments you and you kiss him? What..."

"That's not how it was," Scorpius replies feebly, "I didn't think about it. It just happened - he talked to me, quite normally, asked me if I wanted to join the Quidditch tryouts. I thought that we were alone, and he was so nice, so I..."

It's worse than Albus thought. Nausea keeps seething in his stomach and if he had the strength, he would punch Scorpius in the face. For being so stupid, for not making sure that no one was watching him. For being so clingy that it hurts to detach himself from him now.

Before he can stop himself, he turns around again and looks at Scorpius, who desperately stares straight at him, as if he was actually still hoping. "I was nice to you too, but you didn't even think to tell me anything about it!" he hisses.

"Because I was so ashamed of it," Scorpius replies with a choked voice. "Albus, you cannot imagine how I felt afterward. I wanted to sink into the ground, I wanted -"

He doesn't want to hear it; he doesn't care how embarrassed he is about the consequences of this stupidity, but most of all he doesn't want to know how bad it was for Scorpius that his kiss was not returned or whatever else he wants to say, so he just interrupts it. "What is it with this diary anyway? Is it true?"

Surprised, Scorpius remains silent for a moment. "After I... kissed him, James started to really mess me up. He stole stuff from me and beat me up and... It's my father's diary and it was a huge mistake to take it. But Dad wasn't talking about you. This book is older than us."

"You're not really gonna tell me that our fathers hooked up and you have nothing on your mind but to kiss my brother?" It's not what Albus really wants to say, but the only thing he can think of right now.

Scorpius unhappily raises his shoulders and then lets them drop again. "Why would my father write lies in his journal and then protect it with twenty spells and curses against unwanted intrusions?"

"Let me guess, your brain damage is a vestige of those curses?"

For a split second, the corners of Scorpius' mouth lift up, as if he thought the remark itself was humorous, but then he looks at him, sees that Albus is not smiling, and seems to collapse. "Why are you getting so upset anyway?" he asks weakly.

Albus opens his mouth to answer. _Because he is my brother!_ But of course, that explains his anger, his pain, and his disappointment rather insufficiently, if at all.

"I would have trusted you with everything," he finally says muffled. "You know everything about me and my family, but you never mentioned your father's diary, although James knew about it. You became friends with me and never said a word about yourself... and my brother. About what you wanted from him. Or did you just become my friend because things didn't work out with James?"

Although Albus sounds absolutely pathetic, Scorpius flinched as if he'd yelled at him.

"No! I could never have been friends with him, never, he's an undignified, loathsome bully, and you know that's how I see it! I... I couldn't tell you. I didn't want to show the diary to anyone, it doesn't belong to me and that's all father's business, and would you have liked me if I had told you about the kiss?"

Suddenly Albus can't stand Scorpius' voice anymore, and he knows that if he listens to this any longer, he will do something he regrets.

"Do you think you have a right to be liked by me?" he utters and turns away.

He doesn't wait for Scorpius to respond. He runs out of the library and it feels as if he has left part of his sanity there.

* * *

The first double lesson this morning is Herbology with Professor Longbottom, and Albus can vividly imagine how his father will freak out when he hears from his former friend that his other son is now also going off the rails and skipping class. It's not a good thought, and on any other day, he would have had great difficulty letting his daily routine slip away completely.

But now he can't imagine working with Scorpius on their Bubotuber as if nothing had happened, so he waits in a hallway on the third floor, hidden behind a curtain, for the murmuring of the students to gradually die down. When he is sure that the classes have finally started, he pushes the curtain aside, releasing a cloud of dust, and steps out of the corridor.

From the classroom to his right, muffled laughter can be heard, and although it is neither his concern nor his business, it is too much for him. He needs silence and seclusion, at least for a short while.

Fortunately, the bathrooms are not far away, and he reaches them without meeting anyone. Pushing open the door always feels as if he is entering a portal that leads into another world, a clean-smelling, darkly tiled world, where one can coexist with other people without having to deal with them because each one of them has their own place in their own cabin, which nobody disputes - at least until they leave it behind, clean and full of well-being, and release it for one another.

He sighs and steps into the tiny anteroom from which the cabins ramify and, as always, chooses one at the outer end, although he would have the free choice.

As he turns the lock on the cabin door, he finally feels completely safe and undisturbed, and he won't come out again until he is ready to face Scorpius. The throbbing in his head soothes.

Slowly, with trembling fingers, he unbuttons his cloak and throws it onto the small bench next to him, which stands out brightly against the otherwise dark tones of the shower room. He knows from his parents that this bathroom is one of the many luxurious innovations that didn't exist in their days, along with the fireplaces in the entrance hall, which was built for especially urgent communication between parents and children. They are open in both directions and are therefore equally suitable for quick visits.

Finally, he has undressed and steps into the shower, waits for a second until warm water trips on him like a downpour and the murmur mixes with the one in his ears. It feels unexpectedly good; the clumsy, dark sensation in his chest, which made breathing difficult for him, disappears quickly.

Maybe he should pay his brother a little visit. Put something about kissing in every sentence and watch him squirm and eventually punch Albus with his fists so he has a reason to punch his own frustration in James' damn face.

No doubt he would have deserved it.

Although the idea cheers him up a little, it leaves a stale aftertaste. What he had refused to admit to himself until now, germinates in him as a matter of course, and he lets his head hang down until the warm water washes his hair over his shoulders into his face.

James is a monster. His behavior and character make him terribly ugly, he is narrow-minded, stubborn, and arrogant. This borderline stupidity, which clings to him like a cloud of penetrating stench, only underlines his nastiness.

And still, Scorpius kissed him, this caveman, and in Albus' case, he didn't even show the slightest hint in this regard. He wonders why, why, why of all people, someone like Scorpius would kiss his shitty brother and not him, again and again, until the positive effect of the shower fades away, even while he is still under its pouring stream. What really frustrates him is that he actually knows the answer, but the question keeps repeating itself.

While he is still pretending that Scorpius is a small, stupid puppy that licks anybody who reaches out to him, wagging his tail, and just because of that he pressed his fucking lips into James' hideous face, the question comes to his mind whether he would ever have the courage to just do the same.

How is he supposed to calm down when his thoughts slip away from him like that?

When Albus left him in the library, Scorpius looked downright shattered. He remembers it, even though he didn't even consciously notice it, the gray in his eyes, which seemed strangely dark, despite the sunrise bathing everything in mild light, and his spotty face. Perhaps he cried while listening to what Rose was saying. Maybe he pressed his fingernails into his cheeks, pulled his lower lip between his teeth to suppress a sob while Albus did the same.

He grimaced and strokes his hair out of his face. If this is what happened, he has brought it upon himself. All he had to do was tell him the real reason why James treated him so badly, then it wouldn't have driven a wedge between them.

The water runs dry and Albus climbs onto the soft bath mat. He doesn't feel well enough to leave the cabin yet, so he stops, helpless and disgusted by everything, and when he hears Scorpius' voice, thudding softly into his ears and splitting his thoughts, he thinks for a moment that he is just imagining it.

"My middle name is Hyperion. I hate it because it is so incredibly stupid and I have never told it to anyone before. If it helps, you can call me by that name from now on."

Albus stands there blinking and lets the words seep into him without moving or making any attempt to answer. He almost hopes that Scorpius will disappear again, that he would lose the desire to be friends with him at all, so he wouldn't even dream of forgiving him.

"Okay. I'll just keep trying," he says uncertainly and seems to clear his throat. "I hate visiting my grandparents. Not only because Grandpa Lucius is kind of totally evil, but also because I'm terrified of his peacocks. One of them attacked me once when I was little."

Taking an uneasy step towards the door, Albus wonders if Scorpius has gone completely mad. Saying something like that, on the vague assumption that it's him standing in that shower cabin, earns him a little bit of respect, even if Albus never would admit it.

"Well, then there is this thing with Kendra Allister."

Suddenly, Albus stops moving toward the door. Kendra is a fifth-grader from Ravenclaw, with a wild brown mane, flashing blue eyes, and an insufferable need to convince everyone of her uniqueness, whether they care or not. She also has breasts that look forbidden big on her skinny girl's body.

He doesn't know if he wants to hear what's coming next, but before he can make up his mind or put his hands on his ears, Scorpius continues.

"She hugged and kissed me at the Quidditch game Ravenclaw vs. Slytherin last year, because Slytherin lost, and I threw up on her cloak."

Suppressing the wicked laughter that rises up in him, Albus bites his hand. This story is new to him, and so magnificent that if anyone had gotten wind of it, it would certainly have made the rounds.

A distinct sniffing can be heard outside the door. "So... our fathers had a real affair when they caught up on their seventh year. For several months. After reading this, I wondered why I was even born."

Scorpius suddenly sounds that sad that Albus almost opened the door and embraced him. However, he can say goodbye to that, after all, he didn't spare him anything either.

"The thing with James was just a whim," mumbles Scorpius. "I don't care about him. But you are my only and my best friend. I won't stay here without you."

Leaning his forehead against the door, Albus closes his eyes briefly. "What would you have done if someone else had just showered here and you told some stranger you threw up on Kendra's balloon tits?"

Stifled laughter. "I would have jumped off the Astronomy Tower."

Without thinking, Albus unlocks the door and opens it. "What a clichéd death," he says quietly and grins, but only a second later he feels the cold draft of air flowing towards his naked body wipe the grin from his face.

He sees Scorpius' gaze drifting down on him, and before he gets to his belly, he slams the door back in Scorpius' face and hectically locks it. His cheeks are glowing, his breath goes by bursts, and he hopes he made it in time.

_Unlikely_ , says an annoyingly rational voice in his head soberly. _He was standing at least one step away from the door. Maybe he just saw it out of the corner of his eye, but he saw it_.

Damn.

"This is all your fault," Albus yaps so suddenly that he himself flinches in surprise. But because he is right and it feels good, he repeats it again in other words. "You are responsible for all this crap!"

"Huh?" says Scorpius. "How is it my fault now? I just wanted to tell you everything that is still somehow unsaid and -"

"You distracted me."

"I'm sorry."

As fast as he can, Albus slips into his clothes, although he is not yet completely dry and they are stuck uncomfortably in the wrong places.

"Say something, Albus, please. I didn't see anything!"

Before Albus unlocks the door this time, he makes sure twice that he has put on all his clothes and that no piece of skin is left exposed. He's not sure whether to believe Scorpius, and his fiery red ears and the fixed gaze still hanging at waist level contradict his claim.

"Really, I didn't -" he mumbles once more and interrupts himself to bite his lower lip.

Embarrassed, Albus turns away and passes Scorpius. "I'm going to sleep now," he blubbers, then tramples out the door, which feels incredibly good and gives him the courage to pause for a moment.

He lifts the corner of his mouth slightly, he just doesn't feel able to do anything more and takes a deep breath. "Are you coming, _Hyperion_?"


	7. Distance

The mirror is unadorned and a bit filthy, but it is the only one Albus has found to which both of his conditions apply simultaneously. Firstly, it has to be a mirror that can depict him completely, from top to bottom, and secondly, it must be a non-magical mirror that can keep its mouth shut because his self-confidence certainly cannot stand any further criticism of his appearance.

He had to search almost the entire castle to find it, and just before he came across the storage room on the seventh floor, he considered abandoning his search. A coincidence that he tried this door of all things, a coincidence that he found it unlocked, a coincidence that the room contained exactly what he wanted.

Smiling sardonically, Albus holds up a matted wig in the light of a torch. Now he would only have to believe in coincidences.

Legends entwine around it, many more wondrous than others, most interwoven with his father's heroic tale, but Albus finds the Room of Requirement, now that he stands amidst hundreds of shelves full of old junk and the scent of mothballs in his nose, truly unimpressive.

Once again, he assures himself with a glance over his shoulder that the shadows between the passages don't move. He has checked at least three times that the door really is locked, and now he has no excuse left.

Maybe it wasn't a good idea, after all, flashes through his mind as he looks at his unattractive mirror image. If what he is about to see puts an even bigger damper on him, he will never be able to look into Scorpius' eyes again. Anxiety runs through him like a cold stream, but still, the urge to see exactly what Scorpius saw remains.

Without hesitation, he unbuttons his cloak, lets it slide down to the floor along his bare chest, jerks, and then stares motionlessly into the mirror.

A scrawny boy with pale skin, pallid enough that his freckles seem to glow, stares back, the bright green eyes widened in fright.

Scorpius has seen his ribs; his belly, which slides over the waistband of his underpants like a spare tire every time he breathes; in the middle of it the knobbly navel, looking like a button of skin; the fine branches of blue veins that spread under his skin across his hips.

But he has seen more, and Albus is sure that it's much worse, so he pulls his underpants down as well.

He remembers the expression on Scorpius' face when he stared at him in the bathroom not quite twenty-four hours ago, and although Albus didn't think he was crazy yet, he could have sworn he saw at least a spark of desire in his eyes. In the bathroom and also afterward, when he was long since dressed, through the whole day until they went to bed separately, he imagined feeling glances of this kind flickering over his skin.

Of course, he already noticed his general unpleasantness every time he looked down on himself, but he didn't attach any importance to it, at least not until the moment Scorpius saw him in his entirety. What made him hope is the fact that he has not only grown but also gained weight.

Instead, the figure in the mirror appears to him as if it had been maltreated with stretching jinxes. Well, the only good thing about it is that he has a body one is only too willing to forget.

Trembling, he sticks out his tongue at his reflection in the mirror and pulls his underwear and cloak up again.

* * *

As Albus enters the common room, Scorpius is lolling in one of the high armchairs in front of the fireplace, flipping through a book. Two different colored lights, the cozy orange of the flickering fire and the dim green from one of the spherical lamps floating directly above his head give him a surreal appearance.

Glad that he hasn't noticed his entry and has focused all his attention on the book, Albus turns left towards a dark stone hallway leading to the boys' dormitories. He doesn't feel like sitting next to Scorpius and either reading as well or talking to him. At the moment, both possibilities sound unpleasant, maybe even threatening. He knows himself, every second near this boy will tear him apart inside.

Albus doesn't know how to deal with all this, and he doesn't have any hopes of finding out soon. Just this gruesome story about the kiss alone, he might forgive Scorpius - but combined with his own inadequacy, it suddenly seems impossible for him to even talk to his friend.

As soon as he has left the common room behind, it gets noticeably colder. The shadows are denser here. Only now and then they are dissolved by dark green spots of light that hover far above him and occasionally seem to push themselves off the walls.

The doors to the dormitories of the third and fourth grades are opposite each other at the end of the long corridor, and when Albus reaches them, he recognizes the boy who is sitting cross-legged on the floor and leans the back of his head against the wall.

With a crooked smile on his face, he slowly gets up and stretches as if he had been sitting on the freezing floor for ages and was merely shaking his feet out because they had gone numb; however, he doesn't let Albus out of his sight.

"What are you doing here, Fisher? Don't you have anything better to do than loaf around in front of our dormitory?" Albus hisses in his direction, not to provoke him but to scare him off. If he doesn't have the strength to deal with Scorpius, he certainly won't have to deal with the other imbeciles in his class.

Avery raises his eyebrow and looks so much like his older brother Kaden that Albus would love to cast a stunning spell on him, but then smiles and destroys the impression. "I would have a lot of important stuff to do, but I was waiting for you. I'd like to -"

Impatiently Albus raises his hand. "No chance, whatever you want from me. I'm totally exhausted and won't listen to you." Despite his efforts to make his voice sound at least a little angry, it cracks at the end of his sentence.

"But you haven't -"

Without wasting even one more second on Avery and his talk, Albus pushes open the solid wooden door and dives into the magical warmth of their dorms, the smell of which always reminds him a bit of scorched dust on a Muggle radiator. Although it is still dark (the light spots won't stream in through the doors until later in the evening to dimly illuminate the rooms), Albus effortlessly orients himself to his bed by the enchanted window that currently shows an impenetrable forest.

"Well, I think you're absolutely rude," replies Avery indignantly, who, of course, has followed him. Of course. Why should he respect what Albus wants to do with his time?

"You're not exactly a model of good manners either," Albus answers gruffly. "I've already told you that I'm totally fucked up."

The phrasing makes Avery burst out laughing. "Hmph. Indeed. You have been sleeping with Malfoy every night. I've noticed that, thank you."

"Not _with_ Malfoy. Next to him. Do you want something or not?" He rolls his eyes, but because Avery can barely see this reaction in the darkness, he groans again, deliberately annoyed, and bends over to rummage under his bedding for his sleepwear.

"Um, well."

While waiting for Avery to give himself a nudge, Albus takes off his cloak for the second time that day, but with much less shame than before. Even if Avery were to conjure up a Lumos on the spot, Albus couldn't care less what such an idiot thinks of him.

"You know Rose Weasley, don't you?"

Suppressing a snort, Albus slips into his sleeping trousers. "No," he says succinctly.

Grinning, he sits on the bed and yawns. If Avery is not finished in two minutes, he would just go to sleep. Maybe it would take the same amount of time for this dreamer to understand that as it would take him to formulate an ordinary sentence, in which case he would probably still be standing at Albus' bed in the morning.

"But - She's your cousin!"

"Why do you ask such a stupid question, then?"

A choked cough is heard, then nothing for a while. The silence alone makes him tired and heavy, and another yawn stretches his chest. He presses his head against his pillow and takes a deep breath.

"I... I just wanted to ask you if you would be so kind, and give her a letter." He's waiting for an answer, but Albus, who doesn't desire to play owl, pretends to be asleep. "From me. So she doesn't get it right in the middle of breakfast. Ah, right... Please tell her it's from me."

Even then, Avery could give her that silly letter himself. Albus grimaces.

"Oh... Oh, okay. I'll leave it on your nightstand."

As Avery shuts the door behind him, Albus' eyes close by themselves. The superficial tiredness that has surrounded him all day long like a tenacious cloud has taken hold of him completely and hardly allows him to think clearly.

He slides into a dreamless blackness.

* * *

On Wednesday morning Albus wakes up late enough that warm sun rays from the enchanted window already bathe him in their light. Apart from the chirping of the birds, it is quiet and peaceful. He thinks that winter will probably be over soon, and he already sees himself sitting by the lake with a book, oblivious and solitary and satisfied.

A nice feeling that lasts a moment before he remembers Scorpius.

He has turned Albus' life into a mess filled with drama and tears and lies, and that alone would normally be enough for him to shake his hand and wish him a good life (or not, depending on how they would part. Maybe he would also curse Scorpius). Thanks to Scorpius, Albus lately has cried more often than all the years before.

The fact that he didn't wake him up that morning, although they hadn't seen each other the night before, seems strange to him. Normally he would never have left Albus in peace.

While he washes, gets dressed, and takes a moment to let his gaze wander through the almost empty dormitory (only Quentin Brocklehurst is still asleep, which is not unusual), he is overcome by the unsettling feeling that he has missed something.

Maybe it has something to do with Scorpius not being there, he thinks. It is just too strange for him to have time to think and breathe in the morning. Maybe it's true that humans are like plants, that they wither when forced into another's biotope.

Nevertheless, the nagging feeling that something is wrong doesn't disappear, not even as he walks upstairs for breakfast and already recognizes Scorpius' blond mop of hair through the wide double doors. He sits in the middle of the table, between two second-year girls who are chatting excitedly with each other as if he were not even there. Listlessly he pokes his toast with a knife.

Scorpius hasn't saved him a seat, and he doesn't look up as Albus walks beside the table towards him, so he doesn't stop and drops onto an empty chair at the end of the table. The insecurity in his stomach gets cracks through which a familiar stream of rage pours, and suddenly he develops a great desire to press Scorpius' stupid face onto his plate.

"Albus," says a voice in his back, and a moment later, Avery Fisher sits down next to him, his fingers clasped so tightly around the strap of his bag that the joints look almost white. "Have you given Rose the letter?" He casts a nervous glance at him and blushes.

Shocked, Albus pauses, remembering Avery's request and the letter he wanted to put on the nightstand just before Albus drifted off into a comatose sleep. He is certain that there was no letter lying there when he got up.

"It's gone," Albus growls through between his clenched teeth. This, of course, explains the feeling of having forgotten something.

"Oh, Merlin, no! Someone must have taken it! Why didn't you look after it?" Now his fingers cramp around Albus' sleeve, and Avery's black eyes are fixed on him, pleading.

"I told you I was tired. Get a hold of yourself. You left it there all night without thinking." Another hand clutches around his sleeve, finally Avery presses his forehead against his shoulder, and Albus turns his face away in disgust.

"When I went to breakfast just half an hour ago, it was still there," whimpers Avery, but Albus is only listening with half an ear, for his gaze meets that of Scorpius.

He stares across ten students at Albus, his lips drawn into a narrow line. The knife with which he has been stabbing his toast the whole time is quivering in his hand.

Albus doesn't understand why Scorpius is so upset after ignoring him a minute ago and shakes his head, blanking out Avery's muttering. Without averting his gaze, he pushes away the foreign hands on his cape, pushes Avery's head back to block the unwanted touch, and gets up.

As if on command, Scorpius drops the knife onto his plate and rises too. "The letter will find its way back," Albus growls. "Next time, just give it to Rose in person."

Without waiting for an answer, he walks quickly beside the Slytherin table, past Scorpius out of the Great Hall. A queasy roar goes through his stomach as if he deep inside already knows what lies ahead, and only his head is barring the answer.

For one minute, he stands there, leaning against the wall, his fingers on his temple. A moment ago, it looked like Scorpius was going to follow him, accuse him of whatever he might have done wrong, but he doesn't show up. Albus must have been wrong, but he's certainly not going to start chasing that diva now, so he goes up the stairs to the second floor alone to get to the Transformation classroom in time.

Despite his best efforts, the lesson remains nothing but a blurry, gray mass of uninteresting words to him. He notices two or three tiny bits now and then before his thoughts drift off, and he has to painstakingly refocus them on his actual task.

Scorpius, who has chosen a seat next to Albus after changing his house, remains next to him all day long, stiff as a poker, avoiding any contact. Sometimes, when Albus forgets his premeditation and looks over, he sees his jaw grinding and a muscle twitching in his cheek.

They can both be glad that they don't have to solve partner tasks because that would probably have ended either in complete refusal to work or in blood and thunder and public drama, urgently to be prevented.

The only course they don't attend together is one elective class, Ancient Runes. A year ago, Albus chose it because he found the technique of enchanting simple objects with runes tremendously fascinating (and because his brother didn't choose this subject), so the last class of the day is the first in which he can breathe a sigh of relief and draw his thoughts into the present.

Luckily, since Professor Nygaard enters the classroom and stands in front of the teacher's desk with folded arms, which can only imply one thing. Albus looks around. Some of his classmates look like they've been slapped in the face, and Avery Fisher hides behind his book. That won't help him. The stern gaze from the teacher's bright eyes glides over each one, then she turns around and tosses a leathery rune sachet on the table. Albus shrugs.

"Exam in Rune-throwing. You have ten minutes for the interpretation. Then I'll go around. Conversations are forbidden and will be punished with detention." She speaks softly, but Albus understands every word because it is so quiet that one can hear the crunch of the rune tiles as the students take them out of their pockets.

Rune-throwing. Of all things.

Nervously Albus searches his pocket for the sachet and empties its contents onto the scratched tabletop of his single seat. The small, white tiles lie in front of him and, as always, don't tell him anything. The requested pattern won't reveal itself to him, he has become aware of this within the last year, and every further attempt seems like a waste of time.

Resting his chin on his palm, he watches the others staring at their tiles. Elsie from Hufflepuff, whose last name he forgot, is still busy rattling her rune sachet like a Magic 8-Ball. She doesn't just throw the runes on the table when she is done with this exaggerated shaking, no, she strews them out one by one. Her eyes are half-closed, giving her a stupid expression as if she was about to sneeze, but only a blink of an eye later, Albus sees a blue spark rising from her table.

Interesting, but at the same time discouraging. Whatever it is that makes her technique a success, Albus certainly isn't going to follow her example, as long as he has to look like his brain is slowly dissolving.

"Mr. Potter." Professor Nygaard is standing next to him, watching and waiting.

Albus tries again and looks intently at his tiles, but he doesn't see what she wants him to and shrugs. He expects to receive a sharp remark from her, a comment about his incompetence, but she looks down at him expressionlessly.

"Stay after class. We have half an hour until dinner." She turns to a nervous-looking boy from Ravenclaw and leaves Albus behind in surprise.

The rest of the time the professor wanders from one place to another, listening to the other students' interpretations (there are more formulated predictions among them than he would have thought), he spends pushing the runes around on his table. He notices that his set isn't complete - Anzus is missing. _Without divine inspiration, one indeed could nothing but fail_ , he thinks and twists the corners of his mouth into a sarcastic grin.

After he listened to the first predictions with polite disinterest, his thoughts at some point stray, drifting towards Scorpius and the puzzling chasm he has drawn around himself like a ditch. With clammy fingers, he pushes the runes on the table back and forth as if they were figures from a birds-eye view, winding around each other in a complicated ballroom dance.

After only half a day, he misses Scorpius, despite all the anxiety he has brought into Albus' life.

"I asked you to stay because there's something I need to discuss with all of you," Professor Nygaard suddenly says aloud, and Albus looks up. Again she stands leaning on her desk, a woven silk cloth in her hand, shimmering like mother-of-pearl.

In the meantime, the room has emptied. Only Avery and the nervous boy he noticed earlier, as well as two girls from Ravenclaw, are still there beside him. His shoulders tightened in anticipation, he pushes his thoughts about Scorpius aside, turning all his attention to the professor, who uses the general confusion to tighten her strict ponytail.

"Three times I have tested you in Rune-throwing, yet again and again you have failed." An uneasy silence lies over the remains of the class, and Albus' fingers reach for a handful of runes, squeezing them together until they crunch. "You are the only ones who didn't improve or at least make an effort to provide a tiny, pitiful beginning of an interpretation."

Her rough voice scrapes the words into his ear canal, and Albus feels something dark spreading in his belly. One of the runes in his hand reacts to his mood shift and begins to warm his skin.

"I did what I could. Explained to you how you can establish a relationship with your runes, how you can engage with them, how you can finally ask them for answers." A short pause in which she runs her fingers over the cloth in her other hand. "Perhaps you do not believe, do not trust your runes, and in that case, I cannot help you. You know where the door is. If you are not taking another elective class, please do not forget to register for another elective course." She smiles briefly, which seems strange and unnatural on her peculiar ageless face, a face Albus only remembers expressionless.

No one stands up.

"Good. This cloth here," she holds it up, where it seems to almost completely swallow the strong cone of light hovering on the classroom ceiling, "is studded with a single rune. It has been worked into the fibers and causes a special behavior that would be too complex for a mere spell. If I were to cut gloves out of it, it could absorb light and thus heal minor injuries as they occur. Who can tell me what rune it is?"

Before Albus has consciously made the decision, he opens his mouth. "It's Kenaz," he says quietly, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Avery, who has apparently raised his hand instead of just replying, lowering his hand in disappointment.

Professor Nygaard carefully puts the cloth back on the table before turning to Albus again. "What makes you think so?"

"Professor, forgive me, but that isn't correct," shouts one of the girls in between. With a gloating shimmer in her blue eyes, she leans over to him, then stands up. "It can't be Kenaz - it doesn't have any direct healing powers. If I put Kenaz on something, I might rather want to get a boy's attention." She laughs. "Or build a chair."

Albus flinches and feels his ears starting to glow. "Only that Professor Nygaard hasn't mentioned any direct healing powers either," he growls. "It must charge itself with light to cure. I am sure that -"

"You could stud it into the fabric in a certain way," Avery whispers in between. Stunned, Albus looks at him. He would certainly not have believed this dreamer capable of such a clear thought. What he suggested would have been his idea, too.

The girl throws her hands in the air. "Maybe, but I don't think it's that complicated! If you take Sowilo instead of Kenaz and then connect it to Laguz, you have a much more reliable healing spell using solar energy!"

Albus opens his mouth to contradict her but closes it again when he realizes that she is right. A combination of sun and life would make his regenerating fire look ridiculous. He tilts his head, and the girl hints a curtsey in his direction, which raises the corners of his mouth to a smile.

The discussion has swept the students away, and so they all flinch when Professor Nygaard claps her hands. "I will not tell you the solution today. Perhaps it is an incentive to delve deeper into the topic and find it out for yourself, because this is undeniably one of your talents, and it is a truly valuable one."

Stunned silence.

"Today, the complex formulas that underlie runic enchantments are dying out; few wizards and witches still use them. They cost time, resources, and require an in-depth study to achieve good results. Such results are much easier to effectuate with a wand swipe."

In a moment she will say it; that they should go back to practicing spells in order not to waste their valuable talent for research, and Albus wrinkles his nose.

"You five," she points with her hand at each one, "are the reason I accepted the job in the first place at the beginning of the year. Young talents who contribute their cunning and passion towards a field that is losing its importance for the majority of all magical beings". She smiles again, this time it is a contagious smile.

"The purpose of the tests was to sort out. Those who relate and bond with their runes will have their own ways and goals, and those who attend the course only to forget it after graduation will naturally choose a different future. But," she says, "with the right preparation, a more advanced path could be open to you, and so I am offering another course. Saturday evening at six o'clock. If you want to know more, come."

Suddenly she turns away and hurries out of the room without a word as if she had just remembered an important appointment. Confused, Albus looks around. The others appear to be just as battered as he feels, and Avery shakes his head the whole time. "A moment ago, she said we failed, and now she says we're special," he mumbles. "I don't even know what that's about. Are you going?"

Albus, whose growling stomach reminds him of the missed lunch, gets up and simply shoves his work materials into his pocket. "Of course not," he says sarcastically. "Who wants to have lasting, powerful magic powers on their stuff?"

Although he is neither waiting for Avery nor interested in him in any sense, he catches up with him in the hallway like an annoying burdock and chatters his amazement into Albus' ear the whole way down.

* * *

The rest of the week is overshadowed by the mysterious announcement of Professor Nygaard, but Albus doesn't mind, because apart from his excitement for Saturday night, it brings nothing but frustration. Scorpius still doesn't talk to him and behaves as if they had never been friends. Instead, he has somehow managed to get Avery in his foot. He couldn't remember the exact time, but there must have been a moment between losing the letter for Rose and the Ancient Runes class on Wednesday when Avery decided to henceforth become Albus' shadow.

It doesn't matter, Albus convinces himself on Saturday at noon while they eat lunch. Avery is talking about Quidditch. Scorpius isn't interested in him anyway, so the boy's babbling will hardly bother him, and Albus is already learning how to block it out.

It doesn't matter to be woken up in the morning by someone else. Not even being able to go to the bathroom or shower alone anymore. This place at his side has become vacant for some unknown reason at the beginning of the week, so why should he bother? Only now and then, the angry gaze of Scorpius burns into his neck, but Albus feels that Scorpius should address him and not the other way around.

Lost in thought, Albus nods and says, “Oh, I didn't realize that,” whereupon Avery enthusiastically begins to explain some play move while gesturing around with a large piece of roast skewered on his fork.

Of course, he's fooling himself, and Albus knows it all too well. It is a colossal lie that he doesn't care that Scorpius has disposed of him in such a ... disgraceful way. Considering that a huge, festering wound in his chest seems to gape whenever he thinks about the other boy, it may be a lie that will save not only his mind but his life as well, so he clings to it and tries to survive the whole mess.

"For Slytherin, it's great that you got rid of your brother, but on the other hand, he's the only one who can get the Wronski Feint right," mumbles Avery and shoves the whole roast slice into his mouth at once. A drop of gravy runs from the corner of his mouth down to his chin, and Albus turns away shuddering. He hates it when people cannot eat properly.

Again his gaze automatically wanders over to Scorpius. The blonde hair hangs in his face, so he can only guess his expression from the tense posture. Maybe he wanted to get rid of Albus, but he doesn't seem to be happy about it because he hasn't even seen him laugh since. As if by magic, the image of Scorpius' smile slides into his mind, and instantly a dull pain starts hammering in his head.

No matter. He does not care.

Taking a deep breath, Albus turns back to Avery, who is still talking about Quidditch and doesn't seem to notice his greasy chin. It is disgusting, and with goosebumps on his arms, he grabs a napkin from the table and throws it into his face.

"Thank you," says Avery soberly and wipes himself clean. "You haven't heard a word I've said, have you?"

"No."

Unconcerned, Avery shrugs his shoulders. "Talk is supposed to help," he says plainly, turning back to his food.

_Maybe you should tell Scorpius, then we could sort this out_ , he thinks, but only says, "Not me." And it's true. The pain comes in waves that carry him away and drown him, and sometimes he doesn't even feel them approaching. He can't imagine how it will help to tell Avery, and there are some things he hardly could tell anyone.

For example, that he's in love with Scorpius, obviously, and that he had a vague hope the other boy might feel the same way. Or that he can't believe it's purely coincidental that Scorpius doesn't want to talk to him after seeing him naked. (Although he tried to convince Albus not to have seen anything afterward. He might have changed his mind during the night). Or that Albus cannot forgive him for kissing James, that his sick mind has already created an image of Scorpius putting his lips on James' in a rapture. Or that he feels bad because he didn't want to talk to Scorpius anyway, and he got ahead of him by breaking off contact.

There is no way he's going to attempt to talk all this through with a guy he's known for a week and who otherwise just ignored him for three years.

Avery is most likely only close to him out of sensationalism anyway.

* * *

In the evening, Albus and his faithful shadow Avery arrive right on time in front of the classroom for Ancient Runes, and it is hardly surprising to see the three students from Ravenclaw there, who have been invited with them. There are also a few fifth, sixth and seventh graders there.

It feels odd to join them in the corridor as if they all belonged together. Especially the older ones intimidate him a little, as excited as he is, but hardly anyone cares about the others. Only the two Ravenclaw girls from his grade are cackling with each other.

And Avery, who turns to him, his face twisting into a vague smile. "Whatever's going to happen right in there, it can't be too bad. It's just teaching. Out of order, maybe a little shady, but otherwise ..."

"That's exactly what I find so thrilling," Albus replies muffled, and Avery tears his eyes open. "In the official curriculum, there isn't any mention of extraordinary lessons. At least not for Ancient Runes. Maybe she wants us to create illicit items for her."

"I don't find that exciting, I think that's terrifying, to be honest, but I can't imagine it either. She keeps it too obvious for something illicit - and see how many other students she has chosen. Taken together, we make a whole school class."

"Yes, Avery. And now think twice about the possibility that I might not have meant it seriously at all."

Skeptically he frowned. "I didn't see you laugh!"

"That was part of the fun."

"That's something different," mumbles Avery and smiles. "It's nice of you to talk to me now. I thought you were always so grumpy, but this is how -" He interrupts, and Albus raises his head to see what has silenced him.

It is Kaden Fisher, who slowly, almost languidly, approaches a Slytherin, who apparently goes to his class. A half-smile lies on his face, the same one he showed to Albus in the entrance hall, and it seems to him as if it was a lifetime ago. The fact that Avery has been quiet since he discovered his big brother among the students waiting reminds of himself and James.

"Do you have problems with him?" Albus asks softly. He doesn't know yet if he cares or if he likes Avery at all, but something about the situation has certainly caught his attention.

"Not ... really," mumbles Avery. "I just don't like him, and I don't like it when he knows where I am and with... whom." Shamefaced, he looks over to Albus out of the corner of his eye. "Well, I don't really care. It's more about the timing."

Albus raises his shoulders in confusion. "You have attached yourself to me. You should have thought about that before. But okay, we don't have to keep talking."

As he searches Avery's unhappy face for an answer to the questions he is asking himself, he sees Professor Nygaard hurrying down the hallway with rosy cheeks and a puffy travel cloak around her shoulders.

"Excuse me, I've been held up," she announces cheerfully, opens the lock on the door with a wave of her wand, and pushes it open. "After you. I am pleased that everyone has appeared."

Without looking at him again, Albus leaves Avery behind and walks past the professor into the classroom. At the desk in the middle aisle where he usually sits, another student has already settled in, so he throws his bag on a table in the front row and sits down.

While the others also take a seat, Professor Nygaard empties a box on her table with a lot of jingling and rumbling. As far as he can make out, it is a pile of junk; goblets, quills, candlesticks, and keys. Some of the objects have a barely noticeable shimmer. Fascinated, Albus bends over.

"First of all, I'd like to go through the organizational side in detail and maybe answer a few questions," she begins, "Because of me, we can meet every Saturday night, but I know that some of you play Quidditch or attend clubs, so I'd be grateful if you could leave a list of your weekend appointments on my desk after class. Then we'll see how it suits everyone."

"Professor, why are we even here? I didn't quite understand what-"

"I was just getting to that, Mr. Fisher. Or has someone else perhaps already figured it out? Yes, Miss Wilkins?"

A pretty girl with a strand of her dark hair wrapped around a quill clears her throat. She must be in her seventh year, Albus thinks, for she seems almost as calm and grown-up as Professor Nygaard, and although she is a Slytherin like him, he has never noticed her. "You want to teach us how to control runes."

Albus' heart suddenly beats noticeably in his chest. So far, he has only learned how to connect with Runes, at least in theory, because he has never been able to make a connection with them. In his eyes, they are only old, magical signs, tools, shapeable to his will. Professor Babbling, who taught him in his third year, corrected him every time he started, but if this is true -

"Mastery, subjugation, runebreaking, these are the techniques that are no longer taught today," says Professor Nygaard pensive. "In the past, there have been many accidents in class, some of them with lasting consequences for those affected. It has been decided that children should no longer be exposed to this danger, so my curriculum provides for teaching grades three to seven only to create the simplest imprints, in addition to which Rune-throwing has been pushed into the domain of the Ancient Runes although it is nothing more than divination".

She pauses briefly to frown, and Albus suppresses a laugh. Like hell, he has failed. "The wonderful thing about the new guidelines, however, is that through careful examination, promising students with enough talent, knowledge, and assertiveness to handle the dangerous materials and techniques may be selected for study and training. Under the supervision of a teacher, of course."

"Professor Babbling never offered us anything like this," mumbles Avery, who also sat in the front row. He stares suspiciously at the pile of junk on the desk as if he feared it could attack at any moment.

"Such a course is completely voluntary, both for the teacher and the students. Apparently, Professor Babbling preferred to forego it. By the way, you can still decide to leave even now. In that case please inform me so that I can remove your name from the list. However, if you decide to take part in this course, I must insist that you attend every additional lesson. As soon as I have submitted the application, our appointment will be considered a regular class."

An irritated moaning can be heard and Albus turns around. The idea of taking another compulsory course is met with reluctance by many, and the fifth and seventh graders, who already have a heavy workload due to their OWLs and NEWTs, seem downright disgusted. Albus, however, wipes the palms of his hands, damp with excitement, on his cloak and turns forward again. He will not miss such an opportunity.

"I can already see that we are going to say goodbye to a few students. It is, as I said, an offer." Back at her table, Professor Nygaard looks out the window. The sun has already set, and her face is reflected pale in the glass pane. Albus looks like a specter in that mirror world, a specter among a school class of other ghosts.

"There are not many rune-masters left who create true wonders." Professor Nygaard grasps a candleholder whose flaking golden paint gives it a pathetic appearance, but Albus recognizes a warm shimmer in the metal. "Each candle lit in this holder gives light, but also keeps the owner awake." Her face takes on a gentle expression as she looks at the object in her hand. "Of course, it is a very simple enchantment, but such things are no longer produced."

"Yeah, but why is there coffee?" a student calls in between and reaps giggles. Professor Nygaard is not angry despite the interruption. Thoughtfully, she frowns.

"This enchantment is strong and persistent. A more fitting comparison in terms of how it works would be drugs, for example."

Silence falls over the class, and Albus, long convinced of the usefulness of these lessons, suppresses a sigh.

"You may now come forward and look at the objects. Then I will end our meeting today. Don't forget to let me know if you wish to continue attending and when you will have important appointments."

Chairs are moved, and students push forward. Amused, Albus observes that even those who, following the opening of another compulsory course, looked on grimly, push forward and gather around the desk.

* * *

What Albus saw that evening, he will not forget. A chalice, which is connected to a water barrel and keeps filling up continuously. A key that opens the corresponding lock only for a certain person. A quill that imbues the writer with confidence. The most fascinating of all is the signet ring, which holds a strong binding charm and at the same time cannot be removed from the finger of the person for whom the spell is intended.

Of course, the ring has been inactive, but a weak impulse still went through his hand when Albus picked it up. A remnant of the power that once dwelt within its narrow walls.

All of these enchantments, apart from the binding spell, could just as well have been cast with a wand, and some may have been disappointed to see the items look so unspectacular, but Albus has been struck at their unremarkable sight by an eager restlessness that is foreign to him. He would have liked to stay right there and examine them more closely.

As he stumbles down the hallway to go to dinner, he hears rapid foot-stomping behind him. He is still preoccupied with the plethora of possibilities that have been revealed to him, and that will shape his future to a considerable degree, so he only half-heartedly evades towards the wall.

A moment later, something hits him in the back with full force so that the air whistles out of his lungs, and he tumbles and tilts forward. Although he can catch the impact, the pain in his back radiates into his arms and chest.

The face painfully distorted, he turns around. Above him stands Scorpius, breathing heavily, arms stretched out forward, and although he obviously pushed him on purpose, he doesn't seem to be angry. Rather, he appears horrified, eyes widened, lips trembling, and a drop of sweat runs from his hairline over his pale skin.

He looks so bad that it surprises Albus when the well-known anger buzzes through his belly. "Why did you do that?" he yells.

Scorpius lowers his head, his hair falling into his face, seemingly increasing the shadow under his eyes. It looks as if it's eating into his cheeks.

Albus turns away and gets up. His knees hurt, but he doesn't seem to have done anything worse to himself, which is of little comfort to him. He has accepted that Scorpius doesn't care about him anymore. He has slept badly, if at all, and misses him. So instead of leaving him alone, Scorpius just attacks him and looks so miserable that he even wonders why he seems to be so incredibly miserable.

Although it shouldn't matter to Albus.

As he takes a quick breath and turns back to Scorpius, he sees Kaden Fisher building up behind him, arms crossed in front of his chest and this time no dull smile on his face. He looks Albus in the eyes and nods towards the stairs as if to signal him to get out, but Albus merely bites the inside of his cheek and wrinkles his nose.

"Are you really so self-absorbed that you haven't noticed any of this?" Scorpius asks soundlessly. The immense force with which he pushed Albus seems to have completely slipped off him. "I really thought we could be real friends, Albus."

"And I don't know what I ever did to you! What is it? What is it, Scorpius? Why won't you talk to me if you wanted to be my friend?" Too late, Albus notices that he is screaming and that Kaden, Avery, and the two Ravenclaw girls are listening to him attentively. But he can't be humiliated by his outburst now because he feels so much at once that he can't process both shame and remorse.

"BECAUSE IT'S ABSOLUTELY POINTLESS TO TALK TO YOU!"

Albus flinches as Scorpius hastily takes a breath. "You won't forgive me, I realize that, but what I've done is nothing compared to what you've done to me!" Although Scorpius has lowered his voice, the girls giggle anyway, which puts him off track for a moment. He turns to them, his cheeks now reddened again, and snaps: "Get out of here, you disgusting brats! Mind your own business!"

If the situation hadn't been so awkward, Albus would have burst out laughing at the shock on their faces, but he too is caught by surprise. The Scorpius he knows would never have hurled such a thing at them.

However, his request is met. The brats, who are in the same grade as Scorpius and Albus, actually hurry away. As they turn around the corner, loud giggling can be heard again, which gradually fades away. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Kaden grab his brother by the arm and pull him along, down the corridor in the other direction away from them. Avery gives Albus an indistinct look before he starts moving.

Except for the portraits on the walls, whose inhabitants pretend to be asleep, they are now alone, and Scorpius leans his glowing forehead against the rough stone of the wall.

"What are you talking about?" he asks quietly. "What have I done to you? Why don't you just tell me?"

Instead of answering, Scorpius reaches into his cloak pocket and pulls out a wrinkled envelope, which he throws at Albus' feet. "Well, don't you recognize it?" he whispers, and Albus, who neither recognizes the letter nor the handwriting on it, shakes his head. Scorpius laughs tortured.

He has never seen this letter before, but he is certain that on Wednesday morning, it lay completely innocently and meaninglessly on his bedside table. A letter from Avery to Rose, with whom he is obviously in love.

"Do me a favor and just cut the crap, Albus. I'm not stupid, I don't imagine any of this," Scorpius shouts and runs his hands through his hair, "I may have kissed your brother, and you'll never forgive me for that, but you can't just take such cheap revenge on me -" He interrupts himself and sobs. "I'll never forgive you either."

He turns and walks away slowly. Albus wants to grab his arm, put a stunning spell on him, or stop him in any other way, but he just stares at this letter and can't lift a finger.


	8. Resolved

The argument with Scorpius didn't help him understand what was happening between them. He feels clammy and cold, and the omnipresent pain in his chest has given way to a dull emptiness. He can still feel where Scorpius' hands pushed him, that spot between his shoulder blades that burns and radiates.

His confusion reaches its climax when he bends down to look at the letter, picking it up from the floor and examining it. On the envelope, it says ' _My love_ ' in scrawly letters. Can it really be this dodgy letter that caused the commotion?

Since Scorpius obviously stole it and read it anyway, he opens it without further ado and pulls out a seemingly worn-out sheet of lined writing paper. A rarity at Hogwarts, as people still prefer to work with heavy parchment rolls, even on homework and other scribbles. Things that would not have to last and could just as well be written on Muggle notepapers.

First, he notices that the letter is not directly addressed to Rose, nor is it signed. It starts with ' _Hello, beauty_ ' and ends with XXX instead of a name, and Albus remembers a detail from that washed-out night. He wanted him to tell Rose that the letter was from Avery. So why didn't he just sign it?

Frowning, with a bumpy feeling in his stomach, as if he had missed a step while climbing the stairs, he reads the closely written lines.

_Hello, beauty._

_I'm writing to you because I lack the courage to talk to you and because it's the only way I feel I can find words in the first place. By now, you know who I am because the courier should tell you. So you also know how hard it is for me to look you in the eye and say something without stuttering or acting stupid in any other way._

The courier. So, already during the writing, he has planned that someone else should play owl for him, shoots through Albus' head. That rat!

_Everything about you blinds me. Your thick hair, your eyes, and your freckles. I know that you are ashamed of them because whenever the light is so bright that your true hair color can be seen, you let your hair fall into your face so that it is less conspicuous._

A shiver passes over Albus. The way Avery phrased this paragraph seems creepy as if he was constantly watching Rose and interpreting every gesture, no matter how small and insignificant.

_And there is no sight more beautiful than yours. I can promise you that. I have loved you for an eternity, and I can even remember the moment I first noticed you in this way._

_It was during a Quidditch match (in October of our third year, but who was playing I can't remember for the life of me). You were sitting in the stands and reading a book. It must have been exciting because you never paid attention to whether people were cheering or not, and you looked so incredibly beautiful. Because of you, all these other beings looked like freaks, and if you are the standard, that is still the case to this day. I didn't follow the game anymore, and I'm sure you didn't either because you sat there for an hour after it was over._

_I'm in love with you, and every time I see you, I want to shout it out to you, but I'm paralyzed with fear. Do you feel the same way? Maybe just a little bit? Please, answer me. Just don't leave me hanging._

Albus' ears are ringing. To be on the safe side, he reads the letter again, and then one more time. It is difficult for him because repeatedly he is interrupted by Scorpius' voice, which bursts into his thoughts to announce: " _I'll never forgive you either_." Each time the words sound harsher and colder.

It's a misunderstanding, quite obvious. Scorpius stole the letter, read it, and then decided not to talk to Albus anymore. He talked about Albus doing something to him, and for a moment, the thought germinates in his head that he might think the letter was from Avery to him, Albus. That he is in love with him and merely jealous.

His heart begins to stumble, and at the same time, a dark smile distorts the corners of his mouth because he knows he's making a fool of himself.

More likely, he believes Albus wrote it to Scorpius, thus destroying their friendship, with those incredibly pompous words and his feelings that would always drive a wedge between them. As he read it, Scorpius must have thought about this incident in the bathroom and felt harassed afterward. Maybe he even accused Albus of intentionally opening the door, of deliberately exposing himself to him.

His hands tremble with despair as he skims the lines once more. His gaze lingers on the paragraph in which Avery speaks of Rose's freckles. Of course, Scorpius doesn't have freckles, but maybe he thinks Albus is shallow and won't look closely (after all, it says at the beginning of the letter: _Everything about you blinds me_ ).

He takes a deep breath before pushing the paper back into the envelope and staggering back down the hallway, following the path that Kaden and Avery took.

* * *

As he descends a wide staircase leading down to the dungeons, he allows his disgust for Avery to consume every other emotion inside him. Grief, confusion, and the fading enthusiasm for the lesson, everything is gradually erased. Avery got him into all this, he and his stupid unsigned letter.

Albus knows now that he would have forgiven Scorpius and remained his friend. He already forgave him. It was a secret, and Albus understands the discretion behind it. After all, he himself hasn't told him everything. He didn't tell him how he feels about him, not intentionally at least, which is what Avery did for him in his absurd, obnoxious, thoughtless way.

He only realizes on the edge of his consciousness, how he pauses in front of the stone wall to the Slytherin common room. He whispers the password and pushes forward past a group of students who were about to leave. He looks for Avery, finds him at one of the low tables, writing an essay or something else, and walks up to him with trembling knees.

Avery looks up, smiles an apologetic half-smile, and waves him over, but as he looks Albus in the face, his arm freezes in motion, and his wry smile slips noticeably.

Albus has never been able to bear these public scenes, which often occur when his father or James are involved. His reluctance, however, if it ever existed in this case, has been etched away by the wave of hatred that has also erased his guilty conscience.

He pulls out the letter and holds it up. The realization in Avery's expression lasts for a moment, only to be repressed by utter horror as Albus opens his mouth and begins to speak. "Hello Avery Fisher," he says loud and cold, and with malicious joy, he notices how the conversations of the other students around him fall silent, "someone found and returned your love letter to Rose Weasley from Gryffindor. I think that will please you!"

Avery's lips tremble. It looks as if he is uttering inaudible words, and his eyes, wide open, are fixed on a point between the letter in Albus' arm and his head.

"Are you not relieved to get it back? I can tell you I was. Imagine if someone else had found it, what could they have done with it?" Actually, somebody should be intervening right now to stop him from further screwing Avery. He's counting on it, maybe even hoping so, because he can't stop now. The silence around him challenges Albus to fill it with his bitterness.

"And oh, it was such an incredibly interesting experience to lose everything I had because of that hypocritical piece of crap, but it doesn't matter, right, after all, you're here - my new friend, always ready to fuck me over, always ready to kick my ass again!"

Finally, the time has come. While Avery's brown face noticeably loses color, someone grabs Albus from behind, encloses his chest with an iron grip, bends his arm down, and snatches the letter from him.

Paralyzed by bitterness, Albus doesn't defend himself against the foreign hands that press his arms against his side, nor against being pushed into a darker corner of the room. When he is pressed onto a wooden bench and his already aching back bounces against the wall, he recognizes Kaden, who doesn't smile as usual, but also doesn't look particularly angry.

"Normally, I'm the one who embarrasses my little brother," he says, lifting his shoulders in feigned helplessness and tearing his eyes open. Again, his gestures seem so exaggerated that Albus inevitably gets the idea of getting fooled. "But maybe he has to thank himself for that. I warned him about you, you know?"

Biting his lower lip, Albus shakes his head.

"Told him he'd get himself into some really ugly shit with you and those Malfoys and that he should find other friends. Somehow I was right, wasn't I?" Kaden speaks softly and calmly, and apart from the trembling fist he has raised against his hip, he seems relaxed.

"I think we would all have preferred him to listen to you," Albus replies weakly. It seems to him that throwing up his negative feelings has opened something in him, for he adds: "Actually, I didn't want him from the beginning."

"So?" Kaden raises an eyebrow. "Interesting. Because it seemed to me that after the predictable failure of your special friendship with Malfoy, you looked for a replacement." He comes closer, bows his head down to Albus, staring him in the face.

Attempting to look back at him as unaffectedly as he can, Albus holds the position, although he would prefer to lean somewhere or bury his face in a pillow. "Apparently, your little brother has made sure that my perfectly ordinary friendship with Malfoy is ruined."

Too late, he realizes what he's actually admitting. Kaden's lips curl up into that dull smile that Albus would love to slap off his face. "Oh yes, you just said something like that during your breakdown, but I didn't take it seriously. A love letter for a girl destroyed your friendship, right? And you say you were just normal friends?"

"As if anyone would believe anything else! What shit you've got in your brain, Fisher, is just -"

"But with all the rumors that are circulating about you, there will be some people who are willing to believe such a thing." Placing a finger on his lip, he seems to be thinking hard. "If I consider what your father just said - about old Malfoy, I mean - there could be quite a bit of trouble. I mean, even if it turns out that it's not true, even if your father manages to convince the public that his outburst was due solely to mental derangement, such accusations remain stuck in the back of people's minds."

Albus' fingers cramp into the dry wood of the bench.

"If only that were all! But the victim of child abuse who takes revenge on the son of the perpetrator really has something perfect. A closing cycle." His face is so close to Albus' that he recognizes the flakes of skin in Kaden's eyebrows. "The truth is always much more complicated, but also more difficult to explain. Harder to prove," he adds darkly. "It just doesn't sell well."

"What do you want from me?" Albus whispers and swallows. Kaden frightens him, clearly, but there is something else, something much less tangible, which seems to eat into his heart. He cannot identify it, but it causes his throat to flutter.

"Let's start with my little brother. I would prefer you just leave him alone from now on. If he wants something from you, well, get rid of him. Make sure he wants nothing more to do with you because you should know that he's quite a little sheep. He'll try to make up with you for sure."

Kaden looks at him expectantly, but Albus doesn't manage to get a word out, which causes him to smile brightly.

"What I wonder: How much power does an Auror have? Can he manipulate the newspaper publishers? Does he have the authority to prevent them from publishing certain articles? Maybe. Assuming that is true, there is still the possibility to switch from the crime section to the gossip columns. The children of Malfoy and Potter together, how enchanting. The fact that they're two boys is hardly likely to be a drama in our sophisticated society, is it? You needn't look so frightened, Potter. What are you so scared of -"

Suddenly, Kaden's features freeze, and then he tilts to the side, petrified like a statue. Scorpius, his wand still raised, carefully climbs over the body and stops in front of Albus. "Fisher really needs some time off. What he puts together is really ... Can we ... Please, let's go somewhere else and talk," he whispers. For a while, no one says anything.

Slowly, without having made a conscious decision, Albus gets up. As if he had been waiting for it all along, he unerringly crosses the common room and the corridor to their dormitory. He hears that Scorpius is following him, which is fortunate because there is a hissing in his ears, and he surely would stagger if he tried to turn around. At least he manages without tumbling.

* * *

As soon as the door closes behind them, Scorpius mumbles softly. "Lumos" and the bright light from his magic wand flows over the abandoned, disheveled beds. Albus bravely torments himself a few steps further, settles down on the edge of his bed, and takes a deep breath. Scorpius crouches down in front of him to look into his eyes. He appears as miserable as Albus feels, and he must have cried horribly, because the skin of his nose and lips is brittle and cracked, as if he had constantly wiped them off.

"I'm such an idiot," he presses out, trembling, without taking his eyes off Albus. "Ever since I've known you, ever since we talked, I've always done everything wrong. First, I laughed when you offered me your hand, then I wasn't willing to prove that you were just protecting me from James. And now... this. I totally misinterpreted that letter."

"What I wonder, Scorpius," Albus begins, but then clears his throat as a lump inside hinders him from continuing, "would it really have been so terrible if the letter had been from me?"

Scorpius shrugs. "Pardon?" he croaks.

His gaze averted, fixating some stone block on the floor, Albus shakes his head. He finds it hard to say what's bothering him, but he has to do it. Otherwise, they'll wobble around each other all the time, and Albus slowly runs out of strength for it. He wants to go to bed, pretend to be asleep so that he doesn't have to listen to anyone else. "Well, if you're freaking out like this because you think I wrote you a love letter, maybe I don't want to be friends with you at all."

"No, you got it wrong." The panicky tone of voice finally makes Albus look at Scorpius again, who blinks several times in a row and then massages his temples. "I thought the letter was for you! It lay on your nightstand, and I thought someone placed it there for you!"

After all.

"It was for Weasley? I wouldn't have thought of that. Every single comparison would have suited you just as well! I read it several times, and because I tore it up, I didn't dare put it back, but then you stopped talking to me. Instead, you went with that Avery -"

Albus notices that there was flattery in Scorpius' statement, but there are so many questions left unanswered that he decides to ignore it, even though his palms are damp from nervousness. "You didn't wake me up. At breakfast, you ignored me. How could I have known that you wanted me to talk to you?"

"It was... stupid of me. Somehow I convinced myself that if you cared about me, you would try. Because you... Damn it." With one hand up to his hair, while the other still clutching his wand, Scorpius averts his gaze. His cheeks begin to glow. "I was... About Monday, it..."

That it would come down to Monday was clear to Albus from the beginning. Squinting his eyes as if that would make anything more bearable, he growls: "Now don't start that. If you only knew how humiliating it is for me."

In fact, Scorpius leaves the subject aside, just like any other, and in the silence, Albus' thoughts gradually begin to sort out, which is unexpectedly soothing. "You have accused me of taking revenge on you," he says.

"I'm sorry about that," Scorpius replies, embarrassed. "It was just plain arrogant of me, wasn't it? I thought you were angry because I kissed your brother, and you deliberately left the letter lying around to make me jealous." He laughs unhappily. "Then Fisher threw himself at you in the Great Hall, and that was bad enough. But when you disappeared with him tonight, I just... freaked out." Raising his hands to hide his glowing face behind, he moans restrainedly.

Albus is sure that the smile on his face makes him look absolutely stupid, but he can't suppress it anymore; it already radiates and seems to melt the darkness in his chest down to a tolerable level. He can't wipe away what Scorpius has said, and he doesn't need much imagination to understand it either. "Fisher basically just whined because his letter had disappeared. And he blamed me for it, even though I was half asleep when he gave me that stupid courier job. Honestly, what you say is more understandable than my version, in which you accuse me of having written the letter to you and destroying our friendship with this confession."

"You mean because you stressed that you loved my nonexistent freckles so much?" Scorpius laughs muffled, still hiding behind his hands. "Maybe that would have really upset me." All of a sudden, he drops his hands. "I made a huge mistake," he says seriously. "Because I wasn't talking to you. Then you wouldn't have had to make up such nonsense."

If anyone else had called his concerns nonsense, Albus would have slapped them, but not Scorpius, who was expressing something much more important to him.

"I should have told you everything right away."

"Well," Albus answers and scratches his burning cheek, "we have time, are alone and ... You have a well-functioning mouth, so let's go?"

Scorpius opens his eyes, and the blush gradually creeps down his throat. "But... Oh, no. I can't. I would..."

Grinning, Albus lets himself fall on his back. "Coward." He presses the back of his head into his soft mattress and takes a deep breath. For a while, no one says anything, yet Albus can almost feel Scorpius stumbling over words in his head and writhing inside. As if he was emitting a palpable tension.

"You were naked," says Scorpius muffled, and Albus winces and straightens up. Where he had been squatting before, Scorpius has dropped onto his butt. Now his knees are pulled up, the forehead resting on them. Unfortunately so, because Albus would have preferred to see his face, despite the shame he still feels given this incident. "I noticed that you didn't want this at all, I'm not stupid, but at first I didn't think anything, only that maybe you thought that I ... Would have wanted to see that."

A stupid " _And, did you want to_?" lies on Albus' tongue, but he suppresses it with all his might because the answer is obvious anyway. Nervously he twists a strand of hair around his finger. The excitement spreads in his stomach. They say that this kind of excitement feels like a bunch of butterflies that one has swallowed, but for Albus it feels like he urgently needs to go to the toilet.

"I mean, the timing alone," Scorpius continues, "after you learned I am a... well, a fag. Even after I knew it was just an accident, I kept thinking: maybe it was on purpose after all. Maybe he just wanted you to think it was an accident."

"Why do you call yourself a fag?" Albus retorts. His heated skin gives him the feeling of being cancer-red all over his body, and as Scorpius looks up and stares at him, a blurry smile spreads across his face.

The eye contact doesn't last long, and before he answers, Scorpius is already bedding his head between his knees again. "Because I _wished_ it was on purpose."

It takes Albus a while to connect the phrase with Scorpius and himself. Once more, the scene unfolds in front of his inner eye, again he opens the door and encounters Scorpius' gaze sliding down his chest. By now, he knows what Scorpius has seen, and he wonders if he should buy that he is a gay boy and wishes Albus had intentionally shown himself naked to him. On the other hand, why should he lie, even though the situation is clearly tough for him?

Inappropriately, his blood flows in the wrong direction, gathers in the wrong place, and the throbbing of his erection cuts through any rational thought except that there is no way he can talk to Scorpius like that. His face contorted, he grabs a pillow and holds it in front of his belly, which, of course, is neither very inconspicuous nor easy to explain. He averts his gaze, stares at his fingers cramping into the fabric of the pillow, and tries to breathe quietly and evenly.

"Anyway," Scorpius croaks, "when I noticed that you were ... hanging out with that Avery guy, I knew you didn't even want to have anything to do with me anymore. That's why I reacted so totally inordinately. I hope someday you'll forgive me for being such a hormone-driven jerk."

There's so much on Albus' mind, especially questions he can never ask Scorpius. He wonders if Scorpius was aroused and if he too had dreams that woke him up with the desire to take a long cold shower, and if he would have liked to touch him. His eyebrows pulled together, he pressed the pillow tighter against his lap. How is he supposed to gather a decent response when he barely manages to suppress a moan?

He has to shake Scorpius off. There is no other way. Of course, without hurting him, without tearing everything between them apart again. Then he will swallow his pride and face one of those horrible communal showers. This unpleasant experience is surely enough to cause his erection to shrink. While the imagination alone doesn't suffice, not as long as he is alone with Scorpius, but once he gets there, it will definitely help.

"I forgive you, Scorpius," he presses out, hoping to give his voice a controlled tone, but he sounds as if he has a tummy ache. Not very elegant. Scorpius raises his head, the eyebrows pulled together anxiously. "If anything like this letter ever comes between us again, then..." Meanwhile, Scorpius looks at the pillow with a skeptical look.

"Then I will talk to you about it. I promise you. Believe me. I certainly don't want to go through something like that again. And on top of that, over something imaginary."

Just as Albus is about to get up after a shaky nod, Scorpius begins to move. He gets up on his feet and walks towards him. "And I also wanted to - um... try something else," he murmurs, then suddenly he bends down and bumps his forehead against Albus' nose. It doesn't hurt, and before he can think about what this is supposed to mean, Scorpius kisses him.

Albus doesn't know if this is what he expected. The feeling of Scorpius' soft, warm lips on his own is undoubtedly pleasant. The scent of his skin, the long pale lashes, and the gray in the half-open eyes that seems to blur, all of this has the potential to make him forget himself if he would allow it. He can't tolerate that at the moment because as soon as he would begin nibbling on Scorpius' lip or wrapping his hands around his head, he would definitely pant and ruin everything.

The kiss itself, however, is far from being as ecstatic as he imagined. On the side, he wonders why people freak out, get jealous (like himself), or feel ashamed about something like that.

It is a long kiss that Scorpius breaks off at some point to giggle and lean his forehead against Albus'. "What's the point of this pillow?" he whispers. Before Albus figures out how to use his arms at all and where they are currently placed, he has already pulled it from his lap. "Oh."

This time Albus doesn't have to look. He knows exactly what Scorpius sees. By sitting, the already tight cloak is stretched even more around his crotch. Though ashamed of it, he is secretly glad he wears a pair of jeans. At least the exact contours of his member remain hidden.

Scorpius keeps his gaze lowered, so long that the nervousness reaccumulates in his stomach before suddenly kissing him again. Albus sighs a startled sound against his lips. Suddenly, unexpectedly, warm fingertips brush long strands of hair behind his ear. Sliding further, until the hand reaches the back of his head and pushes him forward. He is quite sure that the fluttering tickle on his lip can only be caused by Scorpius' tongue.

If this kiss had lasted any longer, Albus would have returned everything to him, several times and with full force, but luckily Scorpius interrupts it and straightens up. He breathes heavily, his face glows as usual, and he licks his lips, still sore and maybe even more now than before their kiss, but for Albus, he is prettier than he ever was.

"I ... actually wanted to take a shower," he says quietly. "I'll be right back."

Maybe Albus would feel pushed away if Scorpius wasn't visibly aroused. He watches him leave quickly, the light of his wand pointed to the floor and waits until the door closes behind him and the room is plunged into darkness. Then he does something that he rarely does otherwise: he draws the curtain around his bed before unbuttoning his cloak and slipping completely under his blanket.

Albus has no choice. He won't forget what Scorpius did to him anyway, what he saw and felt, and even a cold shower won't help him anymore.

* * *

That evening Albus stays in his bed. He doesn't bother to open the curtains, although he otherwise can hardly stand not to see what is happening around him. Today he is quite happy with that; if he does not see the other boys, they do not see him either.

Then he doesn't have to think about an explanation for the wound on his lip and the blood. He certainly didn't get it all because these cleaning spells don't work well enough for him. Probably he would have had to get up and go to the bathroom to wash his face. Instead, he presses his head into his pillow and grins like a complete idiot, even then, as his classmates slowly enter the dormitory, talking and getting changed.

A few minutes after the small orbs of light shot through the keyhole in the door and spread around the room like night lights, his bed curtain begins to shake. "Albus?" Scorpius whispers barely audibly.

Nervously, Albus lifts the blanket, checks to make sure he hasn't forgotten anything and pushes jeans and cloak to the bottom of the bed so he can push them down with his foot. Then he stretches out his hand and pulls the cloth aside to let Scorpius slip in. He carries his stupid monogram pillow and wears his silk pajamas again, and something about the usual sight makes Albus' heart leap for joy.

It takes some time for Scorpius to settle in next to him. He taps out his pillow, slips under the blanket, and then smoothes it around his body. For fun, Albus turns on his side and makes a mess of it again, but Scorpius doesn't seem to care. Not until he is comfortable with his position does he look at Albus, and the tender smile on his face slips a bit.

"What happened to your lip?" he asks, alerted, and stretches his hand out to Albus' mouth, but then changes his mind.

Albus smiles. "It had a rather unpleasant encounter with my teeth."

His brows pulled together, Scorpius sighs. "You see, it's happening again with these insinuations and vague replies. Shouldn't we stop doing this?"

The subdued mood of his friend irritates Albus, but he doesn't want to have his upbeat spirits spoilt. Following a sudden intuition, he reaches for Scorpius' hand and looks at his fingertips. "While we're at it," he replies softly and intertwines his fingers with Scorpius', "why have you been in the shower for an entire hour? I'm curious about what you were doing there for so long. Your fingers are all wrinkly already."

Scorpius laughs snortingly and squeezes Albus' hand. "Sometimes you just... have to get really clean. Now you, tell me what that wound is."

"Right. Sometimes you just have to be really quiet."

"Oh, come on."

With a broad grin, Albus sticks out his tongue. "You asked for it, so don't complain afterward. I bit my lip," he says darkly, in an attempt to give his voice a particularly provocative tone, "to suppress my loud moans."

Scorpius' eyes widen, and a stifling sound emerges from his open mouth, so Albus has to control himself not to lay it on even thicker. For a moment, he fears that he might have been too brisk because apart from a sniff, nothing else can be heard. After a seemingly endless moment, however, Scorpius moves closer to him, leaving only a handbreadth of space between them, his pillow pressing against Albus'.

"That's the advantage of these soundproof showers," he mumbles. "No one can hear your cries of pleasure." Albus stares at him, whereupon he raises both eyebrows, bends over, and presses an innocent kiss on his sore lip. "Good night, my heart."

Scorpius lies down on his pillow again, with a satisfied smile on his face, and closes his eyes.

It is already the second time this evening that Albus, who thought Scorpius was completely innocent, has been proven wrong. First, during their second kiss, where Albus deliberately held back so Scorpius could do all the things he himself desired to do. And then now, when he was playing his own joke on him.

_Cries of pleasure_.

Frustrated, Albus pushes his heated head into his pillow and presses his knees together. Anyway, he won't fall for Scorpius' usually shy attitude when it comes to such topics. Not if it can be avoided.

* * *

The next morning, a Sunday, Albus wakes up in a position that brings him into immediate distress. He lies on his side, arms wrapped around Scorpius' back, his crotch pressed against his buttocks. Luckily, he still seems to be sleeping, but he won't be for long if Albus pulls his arm out from under his side.

The attempt to move back to the wall to pull his crotch at least an inch away from Scorpius' butt succeeds - for a short time, after all. Before he can calm down again, Scorpius follows him. Now he really is stuck, and the friction caused by his wriggling is not helpful either.

Maybe he should have changed into his jeans yesterday night.

He'll have to wake him up to get free. What would that matter, anyway? Since last night at the latest, he knows that his friend is not as timid as he always pretends to be. When he opens his mouth to say something stupid, no doubt, Scorpius' butt presses so firmly against his crotch that instead of the words, a gasp pours out of his mouth. As if that wasn't bad enough, Scorpius suddenly bursts into loud laughter.

"You were awake the whole time," Albus growls. He grits his teeth and tries to push Scorpius forward, but there isn't enough room to get enough strength into his left arm, while the right one, of course, lies still underneath Scorpius' chest.

"Yes, and it was very amusing how you tried to squirm out." Slowly rolling his hips, he turns his head to watch Albus' reaction from the corner of his eye.

It's not as if he can't take a joke. Also, what Scorpius is doing doesn't feel bad (oh no, certainly not, on the contrary), but he has known for a long time that something dark resides in his chest. Although he has learned to live with it, he is afraid that if Scorpius continues to stir him up like this, he may lose control. It's as if he's constantly dragging this evil thing to the surface, always a little bit more.

For a moment, Scorpius pauses, gives him a long sideways glance, then smiles defiantly and begins to roll his hips again. "I think you really need a cold shower."

Suppressing the urge to grab Scorpius' damn hips and press them against his hip to control the movements himself, he clenches his free hand into a fist. He wonders why this idiot continues and how the hell a butt can be soft and firm at the same time while stifling a groan. "You'll need a shower right away if you carry on," he croaks. "I suppose you know what you're doing."

"Should I turn around then?"

Albus couldn't stand it much longer, so he hisses between clenched teeth: "Yes, damn it!"

A restrained laugh and Scorpius rolls around without noticeably expanding the space between them, and at that moment Albus realizes that maybe this wasn't such a wise decision. Scorpius pulls the blanket away and carelessly shoves it behind his back before placing his hand on Albus' thigh.

His desperation must be visible as Scorpius' smile fades. "Should I stop?" he asks in an indistinct tone of voice and pulls his hand back again, interrupting the brisk touch.

"If you don't mind."

Instead of answering, Scorpius moves away from him a little. There is a strange expression on his face, a mixture of defiance and pride as if he were turning his nose up at Albus' prudery.

At this moment, he is undoubtedly the prettiest boy he has ever seen, with his tangled hair and curled mouth corners. Albus still cannot get the impression of an innocent child out of his mind, and he hardly dares to let his gaze slide down Scorpius' chest, knowing that he will lose himself in this moment.

Finally, Scorpius opens his mouth and drowns out the throb of the much too fast pulse in his ears. "If I said I didn't mind, that would be a lie, but... I certainly don't want to pressure you into anything. Even if it's really -" He interrupts himself, obviously not out of embarrassment, because he looks down at Albus' crotch and bites his lower lip. "I will wait." As if to expose his words as lies at once, he reaches between his own legs and lets his hand slide under the waistband of his silk trousers.

He does nothing else, but that is not necessary either. Albus' gaze has followed the movement contrary to his intentions, and he stares at the outlines of Scorpius' erection. Obviously, he has already tricked him again because the hand has simply put his penis on scene, pressing it against the cuddly fabric in a way that leaves almost nothing to Albus' imagination.

"What a mean ploy," he whispers. More to break free from the sight than really believing he can distract himself with it, he leans forward and kisses Scorpius.

Of course, Scorpius will try to take the innocence away from that kiss, but this time Albus is prepared for it. As soon as he feels the tongue on his lips, he moves his head back and rests on his elbow. "After you almost ran away from me yesterday into the shower," he mumbles, "I'm surprised that only a few hours later, you're going like this."

"Well, yesterday you didn't press your member in my back either, so..."

A movement at the edge of his vision makes Albus grit his teeth and stare intently into Scorpius' face, on which a weak smile spreads. "I can hardly control what I do in my sleep," he hisses. His whole body begins to tremble from the strain of ignoring what Scorpius' hand is doing.

"And what a blasted... luck this is", Scorpius mumbles, moaning. The fact that he looks at him with a veiled expression as he moves his arm rhythmically doesn't help Albus control himself one bit. "Do you want that... I stop?"

For a moment, Albus closes his eyes. The throbbing of his erection makes a clear thought almost impossible. He already knows the answer, and Scorpius, who is obviously much more perverted and insolent than Albus, basically doesn't need to be protected from anything he could do.

Instead of answering, he looks down at Scorpius, and what he finds there not only takes his breath away but also all his doubts.

It may have been on purpose or due to the violent movements of his hand that Scorpius' pants are hanging somewhere on his thigh. Maybe Scorpius was just trying to attract Albus' attention to his penis because the moment he turns his head, he pauses and pulls his hand away.

Unlike Albus' penis, that of Scorpius is curved upwards and protrudes from a web of very light hair. Involuntarily, he stretches out his hand and taps it with a finger, as if he hadn't balked against looking at it the whole time. If it is this sight that he feared so much, it occurs to Albus that he must simply have been mistaken.

Sinking his teeth into his lower lip, he presses a thick blue vein that winds around the shaft before he strokes the red glans and smears a transparent droplet on it. Scorpius gasps, and as though he doesn't need anything more than that to find the courage to do so, Albus clutches his penis with his hand.

Seeing this is fascinating, arousing, and therefore contrary to what he usually does with himself, that he can't think of anything else. Somewhere on the edge of his attention, he notices Scorpius reaching for the pillow and pressing it against his face.

After that, everything happens awfully fast; only twice does Albus get the chance to move his fist up and down before Scorpius screams muffled into his pillow and squirts semen from his glans. Most of it lands on the top of his pajamas, and Scorpius, who flings the pillow away again, bursts into giggles.

How inappropriate that his penis is still twitching in Albus' hand during this. Unwillingly he frowned. "That was... amazingly fast," he mumbles, and the disappointment of the quick end blends into his desire. He would have liked to continue, especially after it took him so long to engage with it.

"Aaaah, shut up," replies Scorpius, slipping a little around in front of Albus and then pulling his shorts down with a jerk.

He also takes a moment to look at Albus, but he would have preferred that he didn't show this indistinct grin on his face. Well, the dimples on his cheeks almost compensate for that, and Albus doesn't have much time to worry about the appearance and shape of his member anyway.

Charged by the mood, by everything he has seen and done, he also almost climaxes when Scorpius' fingertips slowly brush back his foreskin and expose his glans. Although he bites his injured lip, he cannot hold back his gasping breath.

Where Scorpius touches him, he leaves a throb, an almost unbearable heat, and he forgets any restraint and pushes forward with his hips to approach him, gliding with his glans over the skin, wetting it with his own precum. Obviously, Scorpius did not foresee this, since he looks at Albus in surprise for a moment before he moistens his rough lips, then turns his head again and reaches for Albus' penis without any hesitation, embraces it, and also begins to rub it.

As if the tempo was not enough for him, Albus simultaneously pushes forward into Scorpius' fist. Meanwhile, his gaze glides unfocused across Scorpius' body. From his glowing cheeks to his hand where, strangely enough, the sight of his erection does not repulse him - quite the opposite. It is not long before the tension inside his crotch becomes unbearable, a mere second before his consciousness is repressed by his climax.

Embarrassingly, he also squirts on Scorpius' pajama top, but unlike him, he does not burst out laughing. While he is still twitching, his heartbeat only gradually slowing down, an unsettling thought crosses his mind.

Watching Scorpius raise his eyebrows and carelessly wipe his hand on his already stained shirt, he wonders if this was his first time - if it is even possible to handle his urges in such an intrepid manner when one has never been in a situation like this before.

* * *

They stay in bed until it is time for lunch. Neither Scorpius nor Albus bothers to pull up their pants, and they lie there, clinging to each other wordlessly.

Again and again, Scorpius presses a kiss on his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, and his mouth, strokes his back, smiles contentedly, and Albus, who couldn't shake the unpleasant feeling from before, gets a bad conscience at some point.

Why can't he just feel equally happy?

Only when Scorpius starts to move around nervously amidst the rumbling of his stomach, Albus finds the courage to ask the question that is decisive for him, even if he doesn't know why. "Did you ever do something like this... before?"

Instead of smashing it with a plain no, Scorpius intensifies the bad feeling in Albus' stomach by sitting up and turning his back on him. The curly tips of the blond hair glide forward out of sight as he shakes his head.

Still, it feels as if he had unceremoniously jammed his fist into Albus' stomach, and even as he wonders what seems so wrong at that moment, Scorpius says, "It's complicated."

Albus winces.

"Um, well, I've never done this before, but I've... I've seen things like this."

That's a little different, of course. He sits up to look at Scorpius, whose face has turned red again, but he smiles as if he hadn't noticed that his hesitation almost put Albus through hell. "Maybe it's pretty clichéd, but I found a box of stuff in the attic. There were all kinds of magazines, books, photo books, and things like that."

A laugh breaks out of Albus. "Hang on. There's a box of sex stuff in the Malfoys' attic?"

"Not just sex stuff, Al." Scorpius leans over and puts his lips on Albus' earlobes. "It's filled to the brim with gay porn," he whispers. "For a while, I couldn't get to do anything but study it." He withdraws again and grins conspiratorially.

Although he is surprised that such a box is supposed to exist at all, Albus prefers not to think about who it might have originally belonged to. Nevertheless, he shrugs his shoulders as impartially as possible. "At this point, there is nothing that surprises me anymore."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that you're a perverted weirdo, Scorp," Albus replies and bumps him with his shoulder. "Not at all."

Scorpius scowls him. "Let's not forget I was dressed the first time I saw you naked."


	9. A hidden, intense love

As Albus and Scorpius are finally dressed, they hurry to the third floor to take a quick shower before lunch. Reasonably, they refrain from entering a cabin together. They are a bit late anyway. The mood between them is balanced, and for the first time in quite a while, Albus feels comfortable. It doesn't bother him that Scorpius reaches for his hand on the way down while the staircase changes direction midways, nor does it bother him that he continues to hold him when they are back on solid ground.

What annoys him are the other students. Quite a few of those they pass pause to stare at them as if they had never seen a couple in love before. Boyd, the boy who got him into an argument in the entrance hall after he punched James, stares at them blatantly hostilely.

"Look at those disgusting faggots!" he yells behind them, and a few others flanking him start laughing.

Albus' good mood crumbles a little. He would love to turn to him and demonstratively lick Scorpius' face, but Scorpius lets go of his hand as if he had been burned by it. "Is it because of those assholes?" he asks softly.

Scorpius nods, his lips pressed together into a narrow line. "I just can't believe how disgusting they are acting. As if that was anything special anymore! Billy Randall of the Broomslaps is gay too, and they would never mess with him," he says gloomily.

Music isn't one of Albus' interests, but he remembers an article he once read in the Daily Prophet, and as he jumps over the disappearing steps in the entrance hall, he tries to remember the details. "Right, isn't that the lumberjack guy with the exaggerated upper arms? If I remember correctly, however, they gave him quite a thrashing in the media when he came out."

"That will be the same with us if Kaden delivers on his threat," Scorpius replies. "My father is coming to visit me today. Maybe he knows what to do." He crosses his arms in front of his chest as if he were freezing and walks straight onto a step that dissolves beneath him.

As Albus turns to reach out and pick up the groaning Scorpius, he thinks of something. Something that casts a shadow over his now merely decent mood. "When is your father coming?"

Scorpius, who presses his hand on his thigh and limps down the remaining steps, does not answer him immediately.

"Now tell me, when -?"

Confused and frowning, Scorpius turns to face him. "He should already be there." A brief pause, then: "Why are you getting so upset about this?"

With a bad feeling in his stomach, Albus runs down the stairs, crosses the entrance hall as fast as he can, and collides with someone. "Sorry," he shouts over his shoulder. Scorpius, infected by his excitement, is hot on his heels. "What's wrong?" he cries in panic.

He already sees them as he stumbles through the archway into the Great Hall. They are standing close by around the Slytherin table; Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, both in attack position, both with fiercely red faces and clenched fists. The students at the tables look over at them, some grinning, some angry at the disturbance, and a chubby-cheeked girl sitting directly behind them at the end of the table stares at them in astonishment, yet eager at the same time, holding a forgotten spoon full of soup in front of her mouth.

Now it is too late to do anything about the renewed public display of mental immaturity anyway, so Albus just stays where he is and watches them arguing.

"Me? am I supposed to believe it's a coincidence that you decide to show up here at the very moment I'm visiting my son?" Mr. Malfoy hisses right when Scorpius positions himself close to Albus. He grimaces grudgingly and whispers, "Oh no, that... Please, not again."

Harry, so angry that his neck muscles are protruding, tenses his shoulders. "It's no coincidence," he yells. "You stupid ferret, do you really think it's all about you?" As he turns his head a little to the side, Albus spots a fresh cut on his cheek, only a few millimeters wide but bleeding, and he frowned. The thought of throwing himself in between them, of somehow preventing them from tearing each other to pieces, briefly grazes him, but he decides against it. For today he has endured enough ridicule and mockery.

"I really don't have to tolerate that!" Mr. Malfoy's voice gets louder too, and he points his finger at Harry as if he could do anything with it.

"Of course, you must! When you go around attacking people -"

"I don't run around attacking people who don't deserve it, Potter!"

"Your attitude is truly ridiculous! I'm not here for you, and nobody deserves to be attacked from behind!"

Mr. Malfoy laughs snortingly. "Am I to believe that you suddenly care about your son after the way you've treated him all this time?"

The anger seems to slowly drip from Harry's face and reveal a mask of hatred, at least that's what it looks like to Albus, and he begins to realize that this argument has gone far too far. Apparently, his father sees it that way, too, because his voice has become noticeably quieter as he answers. "If you say one more word, Malfoy, I will arrest you for obstruction of justice and assault on an official, and you are not allowed to see your beloved lawyer for twenty-four hours. How would you like that?"

It takes a moment for Mr. Malfoy to answer. During this time, he too changes his posture, straightens his back, loosens his fists, and Albus wonders why these two men don't talk to each other in a civilized manner from the start if they can control themselves. "Go ahead. Arrest me, take this miserable sequence of ridiculousness to a new level." His tone of voice suddenly sounds tired and worn out, although he has proudly raised his chin. "I'm getting tired of it."

"Just don't drag my boy into this stupid argument anymore," Harry grabs, scratches the back of his head, and turns away.

"Crisis over," Albus comments quietly. "At least the obvious one."

Scorpius, who crosses his fingers with Albus' again, shakes his head. "Don't you get the feeling that they're somehow destroying each other with this? With this constant bickering, I mean."

Now that Scorpius mentions it, Albus notices it too. While the loss of power seems more obvious in Mr. Malfoy, while his own father still seems to be driven by anger, he too makes a somewhat chewed-up impression. He wonders if it is only that day or if the fight against Malfoy costs him more strength than he can muster each time.

His father has spotted him and approaches him, and Albus, who suspects what is about to happen, suddenly wishes Scorpius would just go, to Mr. Malfoy or somewhere else. One little detail he forgot to mention in the midst of all the events since last night, he of all people, after he made Scorpius promise to talk to him about everything.

Maybe Scorpius doesn't take it badly, he is hoping, while Harry wordlessly pulls him into a hug. It feels strange and uncomfortable, but it's nothing he doesn't have to endure every year, so he lets his father savor that moment before he winds himself out of his arms.

If it irritates him that Albus allowed it at all or that Scorpius still holds his hand, he doesn't show it. "Happy fifteenth birthday, Albus," he says and smiles.

"Thanks." A second later, Scorpius' fingers slip from his grasp, and it definitely feels worse than feared. Still, he bravely holds his gaze on his father's seemingly cheerful face.

"Your mother has an important Quidditch match today, as you may already know, so I guess it's just the two of us. What do you want to do this year? A trip to Hogsmeade for a Butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks? We could stay here too, but," he lets his gaze wander through the Great Hall, "I'm afraid I've made it a little more unpleasant for you than necessary."

There are only a few heads left that have been turned to them by now, but Albus would indeed prefer to stay away from here. Especially if there might be another quarrel, and he knows very well that he would not take any more of these arguments. Not today. "Let's leave," he mumbles. "Where to, I don't care."

Albus turns away and slowly trots towards the threshold, but he can't resist glancing at Scorpius, who stares at him so outraged and hurt, almost as if he had slapped him. It stings him. How can this be so important to Scorpius? For Albus, it's nothing more than an embarrassing day when he has to hang out with his father and pretend they have a normal relationship.

Still, he tries to put on an apologetic expression on his face before his father reaches him.

* * *

It is fortunate for Albus that students are not allowed to visit Hogsmeade this weekend without their parents. A stress factor that is eliminated, and on the way to the village, he takes a deep breath of cold, relaxing February air. Except for the crunch of their steps on the gravel path, it is so quiet that the thought carousel falls silent for a while.

Although he would rather have gone with Scorpius and without his father, of course.

"How are things at school?" Harry asks. He sounds nervous, and it's obvious that he copes much less well with the silence.

Maybe he's also afraid of ruining everything again, Albus ponders and suppresses the impulse not to answer. "Good."

"How are things going with... Um... Potions?"

It's not Albus' strongest subject, but he didn't expect his father to know that either, so he just sighs and rolls his eyes. "At least no more "A's." From the corners of his eyes, he watches Harry's reaction, embarrassedly scratching his head and staring at him for a long time.

"Sorry, I somehow assumed -"

"Slughorn gives me nothing. After James has left, he's dancing around Lily. It's really disgusting," Albus mocks, forgetting his restraint for a moment. "It seems I have too few star qualities." He turns up his nose.

Apparently, his father really intends to work on himself, because instead of ruining his birthday with a discussion about lack of respect or one of the many other topics that have always bothered him about Albus, he laughs at his remark.

Surprised, he stops. He never thought that it could make any difference to him what his father says or does or how he is treated by him, but he seems to have been mistaken because suddenly he is on the verge of tears. When Harry apologized to him, it was bearable, this desire to believe him and that everything would be okay between them, but now, of all times, he feels like a world quake for Albus.

"Hey." He was so absorbed in himself that he didn't realize that Harry was standing next to him again. "That's not so bad. Slughorn doesn't have much left to say anyway, I can assure you. His influence is minimal if there is any at all."

Typically that he doesn't realize what's really going on, Albus thinks and bites his lip as one of his father's warm hands rests on his shoulder.

"I've told you before that maybe it's a good thing how much you differ from James," he says softly. "And I was just too blind to notice. I still think so today."

Something about this irritatingly painful situation hits one leak after another into his facade and also robs him of the motivation to keep it up at all, so he allows tears to drip down his cheek and truth to drip out of his mouth. "It was always okay for me to be different from you guys, Dad. The only one who cared is you."

Blurred, he sees the expression on Harry's face darkening. If he now nags at him not to criticize him, at least Albus knows where he stands, so he doesn't say anything that could obscure the echo of his words.

"I know," Harry finally mumbles harshly and presses Albus to himself. "I know. But that's over."

Albus would like to believe him, but he can't. The past still trembles inside him. Only this time, he doesn't wriggle out of the embrace. Instead, he puts his chin on Harry's shoulder and raises his arms to hug him as well.

* * *

There is not much going on in the Three Broomsticks. Only two older magicians linger at the bar and share a bluish shimmering brew from a drinking horn. The taproom is only slightly more populated; a student Albus once saw playing Quidditch is sitting next to a window with his mother and a little girl who is splashing around in a puddle on the table.

To Albus' horror, the entire Fisher family is also gathered around a larger table by the restrooms; mother, father, Kaden and Avery, plus another guy who has the same brown skin and dark eyes as his younger siblings. Right now, he seems to be telling a story that requires many gestures with his hands, as he waves them around like he is having a fit, and Albus suppresses a giggle.

Hopefully, they don't pay any attention to us, he thinks, while he tries to keep up with his father and at the same time make himself as small as possible next to him. He stops in front of a corner table by the window, which makes it easier for Albus because there he can lean against the bench with his back to Avery and try to be somewhat inconspicuous.

"Shall I get our butterbeer from the bar?" Harry asks as Albus falls onto the softly padded bench.

"Oh no, let's just wait. It can't take that long."

Harry strips the traveling cloak off his shoulders, which he often wears like a jacket simply because of the cold weather, and throws it onto the bench opposite Albus. No sooner is he sitting than he begins to tear a napkin. "I... want to know what's going on in your life, but I don't want to make you feel like you're being interrogated."

Transparent but not inept. This way, Albus has the opportunity to tell something on his own or to ignore the remark if he doesn't feel like it, which of course should loosen his tongue.

Albus doesn't mind giving him some general information, but he is not quite sure about a few more profound things. Should he tell him about Scorpius, his friend? As his thoughts touch the nature of their relationship, his cheeks become hot and probably blushing again because he automatically thinks about what they did to each other that morning.

Of course, Harry doesn't miss his embarrassment, but he keeps his mouth shut and waits for Albus to start talking on his own, for which he is almost grateful. Nevertheless, he chooses a topic he feels reasonably safe.

"Professor Nygaard has set up an extra course for Ancient Runes, and I have decided to participate," he says slowly. He would like to add that few students have even qualified, that he will learn things that will remain hidden from other students forever, but he can stop himself from doing so.

"Oh," replies Harry. At first, it looks like he's going to leave it at that, but then he leans forward and supports his chin on the palm of his hand. "Neither your mother nor I have ever studied this subject, let alone even heard of an extra course. What exactly is it about?"

The sudden, unexpected interest in his favorite subject causes Albus to hesitate briefly. "Well, it's actually about coating items with runes that develop certain powers when you activate them," he answers and blinks. Harry listens to him attentively, although this general information was certainly already clear to him. "Individual runes can best be imagined as the syllables of a spell. They may have some effect, but when you combine them, they become very strong. To make really great enchantments, you need to bring the right runes together, but that's no good if you can't work them in. You'd need talent for that. Otherwise, you can do a lot of things wrong."

He interrupts when a lanky boy approaches their table and steps from one leg to the other as if he had to go to the loo. Albus raises an eyebrow.

"Hello Alex," says Harry, not without throwing an apologetic glance at Albus. "We'll have two butterbeer and three portions of fish and chips."

Alex blinks and scratches around a big pimple on his chin. "Is noted, man. Anything else?"

"Not for now."

The boy turns around and suddenly runs through the bar back behind the counter. The corners of his mouth droop as Albus looks after him, wondering whom the guy has bribed to get hired in the first place.

Clearing his throat, Harry crumbles up what's left of the napkin in a pile. "I think I know now what your favorite subject is."

"I only chose Ancient Runes back then because it's the only subject that neither James nor Rose took, but it's really good."

"It's important to find out what you like, so of course I'm glad," his father replies. "That's what the electives are for. We had an entire department at the Ministry some time ago that dealt with the registration of rune items, but the subject has lost its relevance as less and less of them are made. What... Do you already know what profession you want to do?"

Albus shrugs his shoulders. As if he was saying 'Rune Master' now, just a minute after his father had belittled the profession.

"You don't need to know that yet. Next year you'll have Career Advice, and even if, in your case, Professor Slughorn is in charge, it might help you." He reaches over the table to give Albus an encouraging pat on the shoulder, then looks away. "Oh, hello there. Who are you?"

"Hello, Mr. Potter, I'm Avery Fisher. I'm Albus' friend," says Avery with a laugh. He has suddenly appeared beside Albus, and now he just drops down on the bench next to him.

A premonition runs chilly through Albus' stomach. It's unlikely that he'll forgive his outburst the day before just like that and join them without any ill intent, especially without being invited.

"It is good to meet a friend of Albus'." His father speaks in a friendly tone. The slight hesitation that resonates in his words is hardly audible, but Albus knows it well, and he knows that Harry is cautious. "I don't want to appear impolite, but we are actually in the middle of a conversation."

"I'm sorry to disturb you," Avery replies amicably. "I just wanted to give Albus a quick word." He smiles and then turns halfway around on the bench to look Albus in the face. "This morning in the dormitory ..."

Albus freezes. If Avery notices his reaction, he doesn't let it show.

"You know, I didn't mean to eavesdrop, I really didn't. But I couldn't help it. It was so loud it woke me up. At first, I thought someone was dying. I thought... I certainly don't want to talk you into it either. I mean, he's quite cute - for a boy. But I worry about you. There are certain diseases, you know? My father is a healer, he knows a lot about these things, and he told us that you can protect yourself against them. Wait, I had somewhere ..."

He starts digging in his pocket. Without turning his head, Albus looks carefully over to his father, whose expression is unclear.

With an exaggerated "Aha!" Avery pulls something out of his pocket and slams it on the table. Three small, square packets with jagged edges, shimmering innocently in the dim light of the candles. "Here you go," he says cheerfully. "And please tell your friend to climax quietly. We need to have some sleep, too. See you later, Albus. Bye, Mr. Potter!"

As he walks away, he leaves a peculiar mood. Harry's gaze wanders back and forth from Albus to the condoms on the table, and he's obviously trying to stay calm while Albus' ears burn with shame. Against his will, he is impressed by the way Avery has handled his revenge; he has refrained from lying and has never for a second let on that he didn't mean well with Albus. Just talking into his conscience in front of his father as a friend, concerned about his well-being, is more sophisticated than Albus would have expected.

After a while, none of them said anything, and Alex, the waiter, breaks the uncomfortable silence. "Okay, man, dinner is coming soon. Here are your butterbeer for now." He puts them on the table, his eyes glued to the condoms. "Well, then... Have fun." And Albus writhes inside.

Exhaling tremulously, Harry strikes the table with his flat hand and Albus, who expects a lecture at any time, winces, but his father just pulls the condoms in his direction and collects them to put them in the pocket of his travel cloak. "So that was one of your friends," he mumbles. "How nice of him to care for you."

"I... I, uh... He just -" Sniffing, Albus shakes his head.

"That was bullying, Albus. When you calm down, I'll go over and talk to the parents. I won't let anything like that happen again, and you must tell me if -"

"It's not like that," Albus interrupts him, incredulous that Harry is trying to protect him all at once. "It's not like that. Please don't do this, Dad."

"Is he blackmailing you? For example, so that you don't fight back?"

Albus cramps his sweaty hands into the seat cushion. It's interesting and frightening how close his father's suspicions are to the truth when it's not about James.

Actually, he has to tell him because Kaden is not only threatening his own reputation but also that of his and Scorpius' family. But one thing is clear: If he tells on him, he'll also have to mention that at least his relationship with Scorpius is a fact, and then he can admit right away that Avery wasn't lying. "No, he's not blackmailing me."

At least that's not a lie.

"Very well." Harry crosses his arms in front of his chest and looks expressionlessly over at Albus. "Then what was that all about?"

"It was revenge. Avery messed around and almost destroyed something that meant a lot to me. So I made a fool of him in the common room, and in return, he... embarrassed me in front of you. Actually, I got off pretty well," Albus mumbles.

"I see." The posture of his father relaxes noticeably. He takes a sip of butterbeer and then adds thoughtfully: "Everyone makes enemies at some point, Albus. I don't want to claim to know how things work in your house, but if it stays that way, it's okay. We'll just forget about this scene, all right?"

He doesn't even ask if it's true, Albus thinks involuntarily, and suddenly a part of him wants to jump up, tell him to his face that it's true. That Scorpius is his friend, that he has never met anyone he finds so beautiful and attractive. He wants his father to see him for what he really is.

But that really wouldn't be a good tactic, and he manages to defeat that urge.

"In my school days, I had many enemies, more than you, anyway. And you can believe me when I tell you that it will get better sometime. At your age, there are still a lot of mean kids around, but they're all getting older too." Harry raises his shoulders. "Malfoy and I used to really dislike one another. We used to insult and duel each other whenever we met," he adds thoughtfully. "After the war against Voldemort, the fighting stopped. Until recently, at least."

You have James to thank for that, Albus thinks. A cool gust of wind sweeps through the pub, causing the candle flames to flicker restlessly, and he looks to the entrance, where Mr. Malfoy is closing the door behind Scorpius.

Scorpius looks around searchingly, his cheeks red from the wind. For the blink of an eye, a sour expression remains on his face as he discovers Albus, but then he gives him a bright smile.

Albus' heart begins to flutter. "Speak of the devil," he says with a grin.

* * *

"Potter," says Mr. Malfoy curtly and stops in front of the table, then he turns to Albus, shakes his hand vigorously. "Delighted to see you again, Albus. Happy birthday."

"Thank you, sir," Albus replies politely. He wants to say something to defuse the situation because he notices from the corners of his eyes that his father's lower jaw has become visibly tense but at this moment, Scorpius sits down next to him, wraps his arms around Albus' shoulders, and suddenly it doesn't seem important to him anymore.

"Congratulations from me, too," he whispers into his ear, and the silly grin tugs at the corners of Albus' mouth again, even as he adds, "But I haven't forgotten that you didn't tell me when your birthday was!"

Albus can hardly keep himself from kissing him - in the presence of their fathers. "I'll make it up to you, I promise."

They look at each other for a long time, then Scorpius lowers his arms again, takes a sip of Albus' butterbeer and wipes his mouth. "I'll come back to that tonight," he murmurs.

Both Mr. Malfoy and Harry stare at them, and while Albus is still wondering what revealed them, the corners of Mr. Malfoy's mouth curl into a knowing smile. As if that wasn't enough, he raises a thumb and Scorpius moans desperately.

Perhaps Albus already expected that his luck wouldn't last forever after his father surprised him so many times on this day. He arms himself inwardly, hoping that the storm will pass over him quickly as Harry buries his face in his hands. He says only two words, but they are enough to tell Albus everything he needs to know. "Revenge, right?"

Albus doesn't know what to say in reply, and he remains silent, his hands cramping in the seat cushion. Scorpius doesn't say anything either, although he looks at him confused, but he grabs his hand and squeezes it. That relieves him, at least a little.

The silence between them continues. Mr. Malfoy drums impatiently with his fingers on his leg and looks, his nose wrinkled, at a small piece of a free bench next to Harry. Albus has the impression that he feels sorry for it, but then he suddenly sits down, although at most Lily would have fitted in. Despite his narrow stature, part of his leg hangs over the edge of the bench while he sits halfway on Harry.

For a moment, Harry stares horrified at Mr. Malfoy's face, then his skin turns a spotty red before receding as if someone next to him had vomited. To make matters worse, Mr. Malfoy slides his bottom back and forth to push him further away. With an exaggeratedly disgusted grimace, Harry makes his way to the window, crumpling his travel cloak against the wall.

Smiling contentedly, Mr. Malfoy leans back and closes his eyes briefly. "So that's that," he says and turns to Albus, opens his mouth, but Harry, pressing the back of his head against the windowpane, hisses: "That's that? Are you out of your mind?" and stares at him furiously.

"Basic rules of politeness dictate that you should have offered me a seat, Potter," replies Mr. Malfoy, raising an eyebrow before addressing Albus. "Scorpius really wanted to be around on your birthday, and I think that's a splendid idea."

Albus doesn't think it's a splendid idea. He wrestles a faint smile off his face and looks worriedly at his father, who has meanwhile crossed his arms in front of his chest and is staring grimly at the tabletop. However, he cannot deny that Mr. Malfoy's impertinence has created a distraction, which has come just in time.

Scorpius squeezes his hand and throws an apologetic look at him before he clears his throat. "Actually... There is something else. So..." As he feels the glances from three pairs of eyes on him, he interrupts and shudders, then looks at Harry and his father one after the other. "When you were arguing again in the Great Hall earlier, Albus and I noticed that it was getting worse and worse. And I don't know how much longer we can bear it. It's just embarrassing." As if to underline his words, his cheeks are turning red.

Probably Scorpius knows he's stirred up a wasp's nest because he's in a hurry to talk. "I don't know why you hate each other again. Maybe I don't want to know. But you have to stop. Please get along somehow." He looks relieved when he finally averts his eyes.

If Scorpius thought he could initiate a discussion or even reconciliation, he was wrong. Mr. Malfoy's face looks pinched as if he had bitten a lemon. Harry snorted. " Getting along? With Malfoy? Impossible. I don't believe this. It's impossible that I can get along with him," he growls.

Albus, who has been listening to Scorpius with his mouth open, suppresses a moan. "Why is that impossible, Dad? Apparently, it was different once."

Harry doesn't answer.

"I expected that," Scorpius says after a while, but he doesn't seem disappointed. Instead, an enigmatic smile forms on his face that send a pleasant shiver down Albus' spine. He opens a button on his cloak and pulls a book out of an inside pocket, the leather cover of which looks worn out.

To his amazement, he hands it to Albus without further explanation. The book is heavier than it looks, and as he opens it, the faint scent of perfume rises into his nose. The matte yellow pages are written tightly, in meticulous calligraphy, and even before he has read the first lines, he realizes what Scorpius has just given him.

"Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy!" Mr. Malfoy hisses at once. Of course, he recognizes it, too. After all, he made such an effort to give his thoughts the prettiest shape possible. "You stole my diary? I simply cannot believe that you would do such a thing! It's so malicious, I..."

The words attract Albus' gaze like magnets.

... sometimes, when he looks at me that way, father's words ring in my ears. ...unnatural. Perverse. Socially ostracized. When he looks at me like that, I don't know what is true, but I know that if he wanted to leave this country, I would go with him ...

Out of the corner of his eye, Albus sees Mr. Malfoy's hand trying to reach for the book, and he quickly turns to the side so that he only catches his arm.

It is not a firm grip, and Albus would never have thought anything of it. How could he not want the book back? If he had written something like that himself, he wouldn't want it to end up in the hands of someone else either.

When Harry jumps up, he bumps against the table. The butterbeer spills over the edge of Albus' glass, forming a foamy puddle on the dark lacquered wood, and Mr. Malfoy lets go. Barely the blink of an eye later, Harry grabs his arm and pulls it away from Albus.

Mr. Malfoy tries to break free with his free hand, but Harry ends up holding both wrists tightly together. There is no point in resisting. "Let go of me right now, Potter," he hisses and tenses himself once more to free himself, but it is in vain.

Demonstrating his physical superiority by pulling Mr. Malfoy's arms closer to him, Harry growls: "You have no right to touch my son! How can you think that I would let that happen?"

"He has my private diary, and if you had any shame, you would take it from him yourself! That. Does. Not. Concern. Anyone."

"It concerns us all," Scorpius says soundlessly. "At least since you dragged our lives down into this abyss of... embarrassment and public humiliation. If you really can't get along with each other anymore, if you really don't like each other that much, then Albus should at least know why."

"What is he talking about, Malfoy?" Harry's tone of voice sounds controlled, but it appears to be giving him a lot of trouble, and he presses Mr. Malfoy's wrists so hard that his fingertips lose their color. "What is written in this diary?"

Contrary to what Albus expected, Mr. Malfoy turns as red as usual Scorpius, and his eyes are widened. It seems that Harry's interest in this book has plunged him into a deep horror, and Albus involuntarily wonders why. If they once had an affair with each other long before they married other people, it contains nothing but old stories.

Unless ... Following a dark impulse, he opens the diary in the midst, looks for a complete paragraph and lets the words flow quietly out of his mouth.

"When he mourns the dead, I lie beside him in silence. There is nothing I can say to relieve his suffering, and even if I could think of something to say, it would remain empty words. They could never carry what I feel in truth, and not even what I see in front of me could they describe. But today, it was different. There were no tears and no regrets and no helplessness. He looked at me and I at him. There was nothing else, no contrasting sides, just us, without any attachments. It was a moment of clarity, a clear connection, and I was afraid to break it as soon as I moved, so I just kept looking at him. At some point, when I overcame myself and took his hand, he said to me, "Without you, the world would be a nightmare." I wanted to reply, but I could only think of one thing, and it described another boundary that I could not tear down with my bare hands, even though I tried. At some point, the expression in his eyes changed. Dark and empty like distant galaxies, and I knew my words would not reach him. I could write them down but never speak it out. I love him, and he will never know."

A tremor goes through the last sentence, a quake coming from Albus' chest, and he blinks at the words for a moment, as if to reassure himself that he has not misunderstood. An affair, that's what Scorpius called it, but it's not. Albus realizes, but at the same time, he doesn't. How can two people who have such a passion for each other fight each other so bitterly?

It is quiet at their table. All of Mr. Malfoy seems limp; his body appears to have lost all tension, his gaze is dull and powerless, and when Harry lets go of his wrists, his hands clap his thighs like those of a rag doll.

It is a frightening sight, but it does not match the impression his father makes on Albus. His skin has taken on a pale color, the corners of his mouth tremble as if he had lost control over them, and his whole body shakes.

He did not know it. Mr. Malfoy has kept his word. He never knew.

Suddenly he takes his travel cape, gets up, climbs over Mr. Malfoy out of the sitting area without looking at him. His last glance is directed to Albus. "I'm sorry, I... I can't do this right now." Then he carelessly reaches into his pocket, throws the first available coin on the table, and turns away.

Worried, Albus watches him stagger out of the taproom. Whatever he had wanted to achieve, it is not this.

* * *

Mr. Malfoy remains silent all the time.

When Scorpius gives Albus a little kiss to cheer him up, or when Alex passes three plates with a hovering spell, or when Scorpius giggles because the waiter stumbles while running away.

Just as wordlessly, Albus pushes a plate of fish and chips towards him. The food smells delicious, so it worries him that Mr. Malfoy shakes his head. But at least he says something.

"No, thank you, Albus. It's kind of you, but I've no appetite."

It's better than nothing, so Albus turns his attention to the food. Only now does he notice that it's the first meal he got that day, yet he eats slowly and chews thoroughly, feeling as if it would eventually become a mouthful of dust that chokes him as soon as he swallows it.

Scorpius has less trouble dealing with this situation. He has long since finished eating when Albus is still chewing on his fifth bite. Not surprisingly, because the diary entry alone changed something in Albus, and Scorpius had much more time to get used to a world where their fathers loved each other before it all turned to hate. Although he told Albus, it was as unimaginable, as little dramatic as the bite of a snake without venom glands.

If only Scorpius had given him the diary much earlier! Everything would have been different: He could have gotten used to it. He would not have read aloud out of it. And most of all, he could have continued to despise his father, without their pronunciation, which would never have happened.

Instead, he now feels as if it had been him who tore the heart out of his father's chest.

The third plate makes a piercingly loud grinding sound as Scorpius pulls it towards him. He smiles compassionately at Albus and spears a chunk of fish onto the fork. It seems almost funny how he rushes towards it.

When he has shoved exactly half of the food into him at a dizzying pace (Mr. Malfoy doesn't say anything about it, but he raises at least an eyebrow), Scorpius wipes his mouth on a napkin and clears his throat. "I know you're angry. And I'm sorry, Father," he says quietly.

Mr. Malfoy looks at him with no discernible expression. "You should know that your mother knows everything about my second seventh year at school. I have told her." His tone is severe, and he frowns.

"But there is a difference between what is in this book and what you say to Mother! You treat her very differently!" Scorpius bursts out. Albus, who has the feeling of being out of place, is suddenly quite happy about the food and the seemingly insurmountable task of making it disappear.

"Of course there is. I was eighteen, and now I am forty years old! Do you seriously believe that nothing will change in this time frame? At some point, you just don't feel so dramatic anymore."

"If that's the case," says Scorpius with a cunning grin on his face, "if you're not so dramatic when you're forty, it shouldn't be a problem to make up."

Albus looks up. If he had approached his father with such an objection, he could not have hoped to get through the day without a bleating. No matter how much he has changed, he would not have put up with it.

But Mr. Malfoy is a completely different person. Instead of getting upset, he becomes perfectly calm. He leans back and seems to think for a long time. Then he slowly says, "You don't have to pretend you haven't read the diary, Scorpius, that's how you know it's not that easy. What you ask for will only work if both sides agree to it." Although his tone of voice is smooth, there seems to be a shadow on his face, and his eyes are fixed on the table.

"Why did this happen in the first place? Why didn't you stay with him? How could something like this", he nods to the diary on the bench next to Albus, "turn into something so terrible?" Not only his voice trembles; when Scorpius puts his hand on his mouth, it shakes so clearly that even Mr. Malfoy becomes aware of it.

"We had... unsolvable difficulties. Nothing that could have been prevented. You know we managed without scenes until we were forced to talk to each other." Worried, he looks at his son's painfully twisted face. "What... Scorpius, what do you really want me to say?"

Sobbing, he wraps his arms around his chest while Albus helplessly pushes the mealy potato slop around in his mouth and tries to swallow it. Maybe he should take him in his arms, even if he doesn't know how to help Scorpius, but at that moment, his face distorts and makes Albus' hands freeze in motion.

He glances at his father with hatred in his eyes. "I want you to tell me why I exist," he says bitterly. "That you admit that I owe it all to Grandfather. For being the reason you got married in the first place."

He seems to be trying to hide it, but apparently, Scorpius has hit a nerve. Mr. Malfoy flinches, although it's hardly noticeable. "All right, if that's what you want. I admit I married for my father's sake, but you're mistaken on one thing. You exist because your mother and I wanted you. To you, it looks like one excludes the other, but that's the one thing adults have ahead of you: less black-and-white thinking. Take it or leave it. This discussion is over now. Albus, would you please give me my book back?"

He is still focused on Scorpius and his strained posture, so it takes a moment for Albus to break away from him. Relieved to be rid of it, he returns the book to Mr. Malfoy. "I'm sorry I read in it. Even though I didn't know what I was triggering, I actually knew it was absolutely mean to do that."

To his boundless surprise, Mr. Malfoy's expression becomes soft. "It's all right, Albus. I would definitely have done the same thing. When you've finished eating, I'll walk you back to the castle."

* * *

It is late afternoon as they stomp along the gravel path behind Mr. Malfoy. Meanwhile, Albus has overcome his surprise at how Scorpius treated his father and taken his hand.

"Hey, Albus," Scorpius suddenly mumbles, after they have walked half of the way in silence. "I feel bad about ruining your birthday with my plan to reconcile our fathers again. First of all, it was totally insane, and secondly, it was just rude of me."

"I don't care." He squeezes Scorpius' hand. "This day means little to me anyway. And it was quite... enlightening." He tensed his shoulders in trepidation.

"You should have seen your face when you read. I didn't know you were so sensitive."

The seriousness in his friend's words awakens an urgent desire in him to ease the situation. "Me? Sensitive? While reading, I just wondered all the time what you Malfoys had with that perfumed paper." Grinning, he bumps Scorpius with his shoulder.

First, he looks at him perplexed, then he smiles and bumps into Albus as well. "You only think it's perfume. In truth, we mist our paper with aromatic attractants to have our way."

"That's not the real reason," says Mr. Malfoy and turns to look at them. Then he puts on a smug expression. "A Malfoy cannot be compared to the common folk and is always required to show his stance. Sending ordinary letters or filling diaries with nothing but words would hardly be enough to emphasize our magnificence!"

Scorpius stares at his father in disbelief, and Albus suppresses a giggle as he thinks back to the old stories of Uncle Ron telling him about the legendary arrogance of the Malfoy family. Not a second later, however, Mr. Malfoy puts his hand to his chin to look intently at the clouded sky. "Or maybe it's just because a box of that hideous perfume broke in the attic. We had to ventilate it for years before it could be entered without protective spells."

Albus bursts into a hearty laugh that chops off another chunk of the darkness in his chest.

"Oh, by Morgana's crow, now I remember. I was four or so, and the house reeked for months."

"We were ostracized at social gatherings and parties," replies Mr. Malfoy with a grin. "It was very relaxing indeed because at some point nobody insisted on our attendance."

He is part of a strangely cheerful group when they reach Hogwarts. In the entrance hall, Mr. Malfoy embraces his son, shakes Albus' left hand because the right one is still in Scorpius' clasp, and walks buoyantly towards the fireplace.

For him, it may have helped that Scorpius and Albus dropped the bomb on the table in the Three Broomsticks, but Albus is sure they made things a thousand times worse for his own father.

"Tell me, Albus. Has he actually said that he loves Mother?" Scorpius asks quietly, standing next to him, forcing the helplessness back into his chest.

Slowly he shakes his head. He doesn't know anymore, and actually, he doesn't want to know.


	10. The rotten heart

Harry never thought he would want to visit the nameless bar again.

Back then, it was dingy, gloomy and populated by characters he would never have gotten involved with in his life, but between bare light bulbs dangling from the ceiling like vines and windows covered with newspapers, it offered something he particularly longs for at this moment. To forget or to be forgotten - no, that's not quite it. Rather, it is the desire for not even being seen that drives him and eats through his chest like acid.

It's not easy to find. A random back alley speakeasy like a hundred others, surrounded by lightless side streets, and Harry quivers with pain and disgust, so he almost runs past it. By now its entrance is boarded up with two boards crossed over each other. He stands in front of it, undecided whether to crouch and waddle in like a duck or rather turn back, but finally and at last he crawls under the boards.

Now he is standing in a room barely bigger than a phone booth (and at least as filthy). It reeks of urine and something else he'd rather not know what it is, but he remembers; in a minute the door hidden behind brown wallpaper will open and let him in.

Of course, the establishment is not entirely legal. It comes from a world where no one cares about licenses, taxes, and the Muggle Health Department. A realization that requires no further investigation, not then, not now either. All he has to do is smell and see.

But he is not here as Harry Potter, head of Auror Central.

Tonight he is a seeker, a man who pulls the hood over his head and strips away his identity as well as the day - just like everyone else. The wallpaper door opens a crack inward, revealing impenetrable ugliness (checkered linoleum floors, plastic chairs, bare light bulbs, a relic of ages past). The pungent, smoke-filled air spills into the small room with marrow-shaking bass, and before he can change his mind, Harry slips inside the bar.

A raspy voice screeches from the speaker on the wall right next to him, while drums and bass guitar accompany it discordantly. The whole play pauses briefly, then picks up again, swelling into an infernal din whose lyrics are completely incomprehensible. It sounds as if a demon would verbally vomit his hatred of mankind into the microphone.

Relieved (and a little lost), Harry registers that the past five years have flown by without a trace. He staggers through the elongated taproom past the equally long bar, which attracts stray, thirsty souls like a stained beacon, without being addressed by the pub owner, who stares bleakly into space. Each of his footsteps causes a soft rattling whenever his heels come off the sticky floor, until at last he plunges into the darkness of the back room.

Only a single candle flickers dimly on a table in the center. Its glow barely makes it over the scuffed edge to the unadorned wooden chair, and the rest of the room lies in the shadows of windowless depravity.

"Who is it?" croaks a feminine voice.

Harry lets the question pass unanswered between them. Instead, he pulls out his wallet (a souvenir from the Muggle world; he makes sure to always carry a few bills, just in case). His gaze slides negligently over the photo of his children in the ID slot, a guilty twinge in his stomach as he opens the snap of the coin compartment. Only one item is inside, a tiny plastic token barely larger than a penny. Its smooth, ivory surface belies the blood embedded in it, and a shudder runs down between his shoulder blades as he tosses it onto the table.

Nothing happens, well, at least nothing obvious, but Harry knows that this small, unassuming thing is telling the woman quite a lot. She approaches the table, a walking shadow with a hunchback and stringy white hair hanging out of her hood, and mumbles something unintelligible. Her fingers, hidden by the speckled leather of her gloves, dance around the coin like spider legs without touching it, and when she pulls it back, the plastic glows a toxic neon green.

"Five years and three months, that took a long time, sweetheart. We were about to give the room away again. I guess it's just your luck that we don't attract too many new customers." She laughs rattlingly (at least Harry suspects that sound is supposed to represent laughter) and turns away jerkily. "You remember how to do it, don't you?"

"Wait!"

An annoyed groan, then, "What?"

The badge glows in the corner of his eye as Harry raises his head (oh, of course he won't recognize anything, but the woman will see the restless expression in his eyes, and she'll forgive him for taking up her time a little more). He hears the impatient tap of her shoe tip on the floor and braces his heart for what he's about to learn - or not, because he doesn't have a warrant, and he certainly won't be requesting one. But he simply wants to know - after tonight, he will hopefully be allowed to ask this one question after all.

Then the words trip heavily over his tongue. "When was the room last visited? Do you know when -?"

"What answer do you want to hear?" She laughs again, transitioning seamlessly into a stifled cough.

"The truth. I - I want to hear the truth," Harry says tonelessly, lowering his gaze until the hem of his hood hides the glow of the candle, biting his lip, his tongue, as the woman finally answers.

"Last week. Now go already."

Harry's fingers hover over the neon green badge, trembling again, and his heart stumbles groggily in his chest as if drunk as he tries to tame the thoughts that drift off in all directions.

His wife could have found it, somehow figured out how to make use of it, and come here only to find nothing. Or the old woman could be lying. He may have given his badge to someone else. Maybe it was taken during the break-in at his townhouse two years ago.

No. No, it's impossible for a stranger to make use of it. The woman must have been lying.

He wipes the badge off the table, catches it with his other hand and closes his fingers around it. A second later, he is snatched away by the portkey.

* * *

With his eyelids squeezed tightly shut, Harry hits the rough carpeted floor hard, an impact that squeezes every bit of air, sounded by a groan, from his lungs. The hard edge of the badge presses into his palm, but he doesn't let go of it, though he should if he doesn't want to travel right back.

It's not clear to him yet if he can bear it, this knowledge his heart cries out for. Knowing himself, he won't even be aware of it when he has long since attained it, and will later realize at some point that he has been broken by it.

Before opening his eyes, he takes a deep, whistling breath. When the room is empty (and it will be, why would there be anything in it but his own shattered dreams?), he will no doubt return home, cook James dinner, and try to somehow live with what he experienced earlier in the evening.

Five years, three months he lasted. Only for him to come back here in the end, sore in the chest, staggering, taste of blood in his mouth and chaos in his head.

What he sees when he finally opens his eyes flushes the mess out of his brain and the despair back into his stomach, where it spreads cold and bubbles upward. Boxes stuffed with paper line the concrete walls, stacked messily as if in a memory of Ollivander's childhood store. The floor is littered with individual rolls of parchment, carelessly tossed aside, and countless pieces of paper are stuck to the walls, as if someone had tried to cover the bare concrete with their notes and at some point lost the desire to do so.

Harry blinks away the tears, but it seems they are fed by a never-ending well inside him, and at some point they drip tremulously from his chin. He bites the inside of his cheek, angry at himself and these damned circumstances; he is forty-one years old, after all. He's learned to keep his emotions under control, and it would work quite wonderfully if it weren't for this one person who keeps tickling them out of him.

That one person - a sadist, a fucking sadist - who, sixty-three months after, drops a bomb that leaves his body bleeding, gutted, no, hollowed out entirely. Only to send him to a fucking storage room!

He may not have wanted it (the horror at the revelation of his true feelings has drained all color from his face, he's not that gifted an actor), he may feel just as churned and chafed as Harry does, but it's not like he went out of his way to hide his fucking diary from his nosy kid!

Exactly, he just left it lying around, and that's not even the worst of it. Harry doesn't care about himself, it's completely - never mind, it hurts him anyway, whether Draco loved him or not, so what does it matter?

Exhaling heavily, he leans the back of his head against the wall. Draco Malfoy loved him without saying anything, so Harry ripped his heart out of his own damn chest then and put a ring on Ginny's finger, hands still dripping with his blood. ( _No, really, it's all okay, Ginny. I'm just so ... It's an important day, forgive me. I just never thought you'd say yes_.) After that Draco stopped talking to him, not two months later he was married, and no one would have ever thought of -.

Finally, it occurs to him that it makes a difference.  
Five years and three months ago, Harry put his rotten heart back in his chest, where it promptly started beating. It urged him on, drove him here, and as if in some morbid joke, he fell into Draco's arms, here in their own private little dimensional space that should have been orphaned sixteen years after their weddings.  
(Eleven years of silence have made his voice seem low and alien. Harry remembers how frightened he was by this fact. " _You know, sometimes it's just too crowded for me in my house, so I come here. It's not - what are you doing here, anyway_?")  
There was no answer, instead he pinned Draco against the wall, shredding his clothes as if the rot from his heart had reached his brain, stifling any restraint, corrupting any thought.  
Afterwards he came home, in the middle of the night, checked on his children, doubled over with guilt, and stuffed the clothes into the washing machine to wash out the other man's sweat. Shivering and quivering, tongue numb from suppressed curses.  
He didn't tell Ginny when she returned four weeks later, trophy in hand. By then, longing for a life he understood nothing about had eaten gaping holes in his insides, left him to rot long ago. What good would it have done?

But he would never have seduced Draco that night, never kissed him, never stroked his hair, if he'd had the slightest inkling -

The pile of boxes he'd just tried to pull himself up on gives way, staggering, before collapsing over Harry's head and burying him under papers. Not a bad way to die, after all that, he thinks sarcastically, but of course he doesn't die, he hasn't even cracked anything. Only his shoulder hurts after the edge of a box filled with books drilled into it.

At one point Malfoy might have loved him, but now he's turned the dimension that belonged to them alone into a storage room for random nonsense. Now he comes here every week to dump his junk and disappear (no, actually he doesn't, but that's the only tangible explanation).

Harry rises from his papery grave, shaking himself as he thinks about the fact that he gets to dig his wallet out from under a hundred pounds of stuff later. To delay the moment a little longer, he stalks unsteadily toward a round wall mirror taped shut with slips of paper. Hesitantly, he reaches out his hand (it's only going to be a shopping list or a reminder of some birthday anyway), then tears one of them off.

_January 05, 2016_   
_It's been a month now. You haven't come back, which makes you Father of the Year, unlike me. You're not the one living in that hole while wasting your life repenting for a mistake two people made._   
_Your wife has probably forgiven you, how could she not? You will have brought her flowers or saved her life and she won't hold it against you, after all you chose her over me. I'm sure she'll appreciate that._   
_Go to hell, Potter._

As if driven by an external force, his hand tears off the next note while the text still reverberates in his head.

_July 31, 2016_   
_Of course I'm here, of course I'm alone._   
_Astoria wants to forgive me, and I'd be cursed if I didn't return to her. I have a family, a house, my son needs me, and if I live only for him, it would be a full life!_   
_I will never forgive you this one time you came back after all this years, which is why I took the liberty of putting a tracking spell on this room. Oh, Potter, I'll know if you enter it, and if you ever do, I'll come up behind you and wreck your soul to ashes before you can move._   
_Eye for an eye._

Harry turns around in a hurry, but of course there is no one behind him, of course Draco has not come to take revenge on him. Time hasn't stopped for him either, and their fights this year may have been fierce, but nothing else, and his desire for revenge will have faded by now - if that tracking spell is still active at all.

Once again, Harry looks at the note, at the letters that had once been purposefully drawn on the paper with curved meticulousness. Now, more than five years later, thick drops make the ink run. Wiping tears and snot from his face with his sleeve, he pockets the note and rushes toward the shattered boxes to dig for his badge.

If, against all odds, the spell persists and Draco is lured here of all places, Harry will have no strength left for the conversation his spouse bitterly deserves after all this years filled with lies.


	11. Scorpius takes the initiative

It was four whole days for Albus to get the sight of his father out of his mind. How destroyed he had looked as if the world had betrayed him and pulled the rug out from under him. His own part in all this haunts him ceaselessly. He often remembers wanting to take revenge so that Harry would be as lost, lonely, and destroyed as Albus has always been through his fault, but he imagined it differently. More deliberate. More satisfying.

It tormented him, and at some point, an unwilling, frustrated voice mixed into Albus' thought carousel. _But didn't he explicitly ask about the contents of the diary? Didn't you react to it correctly? You are only the messenger. Mr. Malfoy is the one who did it_.

The thought clings to his head, only to repeat itself whenever the impressions of that day haunt him. It is not his fault. Whatever else will happen is not his responsibility.

But nothing has happened, and gradually Albus' thoughts come to rest. They leave him room to follow the lessons. To talk and joke with Scorpius. Although they haven't slept together in one bed since then and haven't petted each other, he is thinking about doing it again, maybe sneaking into the Room of Requirement with him. The thought fills him with excitement and discomfort in equal measure, so he hasn't addressed it yet.

On Friday, during the school break, he takes Scorpius outside into the first warm rays of the spring sun. In the yard, he leans against the tree where he stood before the Christmas vacations and planned to make friends with Scorpius, and blinks into the unusually blue, unclouded sky.

"A historical place," Scorpius remarks and pushes himself against Albus, leaving him trapped between his body and the tree. Without warning, his tongue flutters across Albus' neck and paints wet traces on his skin. "I won't laugh at you this time, I promise." After each word, he puffs a little against the wet spots, and Albus shivers.

Although Scorpius' tongue feels forbidden good on his skin, a small kernel of nausea clenches in his stomach. "Don't do that."

Instead of an answer, Scorpius raises his chin a little to nibble on his earlobe, and the reaction of Albus' treacherous body immediately follows. He grits his teeth and claws his fingernails into the bark of the tree.

"You can't deny that you like what I do," Scorpius whispers into his ear, making him shudder.

"No, I cannot. But I can certainly point out that we are neither alone nor specially protected here. Everyone can see us!"

With a provocative smile on his lips, Scorpius turns to him. His cheeks are reddened and he is so beautiful that Albus has to fight not just to kiss him and press him against the tree. "Isn't that the exciting part?" He lets his hand slide slowly between them and strokes Albus' member.

At that moment, he finds the strength to push Scorpius backward. Now his body is no longer hidden by his friend, and he looks around to see if anyone is paying attention, but there are only a few students in the yard, occupied by themselves. Well, Albus considers relieved, probably everyone else is at the lake. He pushes himself off the tree and, on shaky legs, walks a few steps further to sit down on one of the benches that line the wall. He lets his shoulder bag drop to the ground next to him.

As Scorpius stands in front of him, he gives him a long glance and then takes a step backward. Albus knows that he did not take his reluctance well. For a moment, he seems to struggle with himself before the anger digs into his features. "One could almost think," he growls, "that you don't like me anymore. You haven't touched me since Sunday! And when I kiss you, you act as if I had a contagious disease."

"This has nothing to do with you." The well-being with which he got up that morning had already rapidly diminished during Scorpius' kiss, but now it is shrinking like a balloon mauled with a needle, and the fact that Scorpius looks at him with a raised eyebrow stings him.

"So? With whom or what then?"

"Tell me, have you forgotten what happened on Sunday? What we did?" Albus frowned and nervously slides around on the stone bench, while Scorpius blinked as if he couldn't believe that this is what he was concerned about. "You can't expect me to get over this as quickly as you do!"

"You mean because our fathers had an affair and we confronted them, you don't want to be with me anymore?" Scorpius crosses his arms in front of his chest and looks at him with a wounded expression.

Albus moans, suddenly annoyed and overwhelmed. "You keep saying that, but they weren't having an affair. They were in love! You have read that it is not about ... Sex, and if you didn't realize, then you know it now that I've read it."

He imagined it so nicely: That they would sit in the sun, maybe fool around a little and eat the sandwiches he took for them at the breakfast table. Arguing today of all days, just now, before a double hour of Transformation, seems to him on the one hand like a waste of a beautiful day. On the other hand, he can't ignore them, the sharp spikes of anger that bore into his fantasy image of their break to perforate it.

"Is that important at all? Fine, then they loved each other, but my point is that they never spoke about it." He shakes his head as if he wanted to scare the thought away and then sits down on the bench next to Albus. "They had an affair because they were never really together."

"Oh, so you think it has to be said for it to be valid, then, do you? I don't need to worry about my father, after all, he never said he was hurt, so it's not like that! Everything is just wonderful!"

No sooner has he uttered them than Albus wishes he could take the words back again. Sharp and bitter, they float between them, a bit too hysterical and sarcastic to wipe them away. He twists the corners of his mouth and stares strained at a dark spot on one of his sneakers.

"I never said that," Scorpius shouts, audibly upset. "But that's not what you're after, is it? It's not about our fathers either! You just don't want to be with me and don't have the courage to say it to my face!"

"It is about my father! Have you seen him, Scorpius? Did you see what that diary entry did to him? And then I'm the one who read it out loud!" Now he looks at Scorpius, and for the blink of an eye, he thinks about embracing him and kissing the tears from his cheeks. Just a second before he realizes something. "And you made sure I did it. You brought the diary, and you gave it to me! But you never told me what's really in it. Only that they were having an affair. I would never have -"

"So you blame me," Scorpius interrupts him. "That's why you block me. Because you accuse me of planning this."

So far, Albus hasn't consciously insinuated it, but the moment he speaks it out, it occurs to him that it might have been like that all along. "Did you not plan it then? You wanted to confront them, didn't you? You wanted to force a reconciliation, so you took the book. You must have grabbed it on purpose because you didn't have it with you when we went to lunch." Scorpius remains stubbornly silent and stares into space. "Or wait, have you been hiding it all this time, in your butt, maybe?"

"You're really disgusting when you're angry," Scorpius snaps and moves away from him. "I just wanted Father to see what I know. I wanted to scare him into thinking I was gonna spill my guts. And stop denying everything - which he loves to do. It was a bargaining chip. You weren't supposed to read from it!"

"That's right. You didn't specifically ask me to do that. But maybe you should have told me about your plan anyway. Then it wouldn't have gone so terribly wrong." Elbows resting on his knees, Albus buries his face in his hands. His rage is fading away, cauterized by the truth and the fact that neither Scorpius nor he himself can undo anything.

"I wonder if it really isn't working. I mean... Maybe they're talking. Or at least ignore each other. I've thought about whether they hate each other so much just because they haven't spoken about their true feelings," Scorpius says quietly. "The last entry in this diary is about that. He was tormented because he thought he was just a distraction for your father."

A desperate laugh pours out of Albus' mouth, although he suddenly feels amazingly empty. "Well, since the entry was an overwhelming shock to my dad, it's safe to assume that he had similar thoughts. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Somehow, it was never... You always looked like you didn't care about it anymore. I didn't want to bring it up. Not ruin the mood."

"Otherwise, you don't seem to have a problem with it. For example, when you accused me earlier of suspecting you having a contagious disease," Albus replies weakly.

"I am sorry." Downcast, Scorpius looks at him. His lower lip trembles and Albus turns a little sideward to stroke it with his thumb. "Me too."

Scorpius smiles tentatively, then clears his throat. "So. Perhaps I'm making a fool of myself now... Will you be my boyfriend?" As Albus stares at him in disbelief, his smile slips a little. "Um, because you mentioned that I only take things seriously when they're said. I thought that maybe you might..."

A grin creeps into Albus' cheeks. "I thought we already were anyway. But it's good that we cleared that up." He turns away, lifts his bag off the floor, and pulls out the sandwiches.

Wordlessly, Scorpius takes one - but before he bites into it, he grimly remarks, "You didn't say yes."

Albus rolls his eyes, which makes Scorpius laugh. "All right, so we're a couple now." He digs his teeth into the already soggy bread and chews hard to cover up his embarrassment.

"Just be careful not to get too romantic. You'd think I drugged you with a love potion."

* * *

As Albus wakes up the next morning, bustling noises permeate his ears. All seem to be on their feet at the same time; the boys are dressing, talking and fooling around. Tiredly blinking, he stands up and looks straight into Avery's grinning face. Uneasiness flows into his stomach.

"Will you come to Hogsmeade?" he asks and waggles his eyebrows. "Scorpius is definitely going - I just heard that. I need a few things myself. My brother borrowed my quills, and now all ends are chewed on." His face twists in disgust, then that exaggerated grin flows back and washes over the more honest expression again. "And I thought we might buy some Slytherin fan articles for the next Quidditch game. Show a little team spirit."

Albus blinks at him. It takes a few moments before he manages to reply without snapping at Avery. "So are we friends again or what?"

"Did you think I was gonna be mad at you forever?" With his constant grin, he looks like a sinister leprechaun, and Albus knits his brows. He says nothing. Instead, he tries to find something in the black eyes of his counterpart that tells him what he thinks. "I do not want to argue with you. You exposed me and I exposed you. You are with Scorpius now, so everything's okay, isn't it?"

He still finds nothing to suggest a malicious plan, but Albus remains vigilant. "Have you talked to Scorpius?" he hesitantly asks.

"No, why do you ask?"

Suppressing a shiver, Albus replies cautiously: "I find it strange that you think you know where he wants to go today and whether we are a couple or not."

"Ahem." Suddenly the grin disappears from his face and Avery's cheeks turn red. "I, uh... I just assumed that...

"You were spying on us," Albus replies. He lets his gaze wander through the room, looking for Scorpius, but he has obviously already got up and gone for breakfast. His bed is neatly arranged, the blanket even smoothed. "Probably so your brother has a real story to tell the newspapers, huh?" he adds and turns back to Avery, who stares at him in surprise. "Come on, admit it."

"What did Kaden do?"

The boy's sudden angry tone of voice makes him wince. The memory of what Kaden said to him a week ago whirls around in him as ink poured into a water tub. He has judged his little brother correctly, who apparently really wants to make friends with Albus again, and demanded that he get rid of him in this case.

But it doesn't appear as simple as that. Avery has not even responded to his suspicion that he is being shadowed by him. He didn't even deny it, and that seems strange to Albus. He wouldn't have believed him, but the fact that he doesn't bother to make it look like anything else reinforces his suspicion more than any stammering could have done.

His anger is guaranteed to be just for show, Albus thinks. He probably knows that Kaden is blackmailing him, so Avery wants his brother to see them together. Then everything about Scorpius and Albus would be in the papers, maybe even about the imaginary child abuse, and it would blow up in their faces, their whole lives.

What a revenge. He would tear apart two families, who have enough trouble anyway, over a childish love letter.

Albus jumps out of bed, quickly tosses on a musty shirt and slips into his cuddly sweatpants (to his regret, the only two pieces of clothing on the nightstand), and then turns to Avery.

Still puzzled, his forehead furrowed, a shadow has now settled on his face as if he knew what Albus knows.

"Fuck off, Avery," Albus yaps as threateningly as he can. "If you ever speak to me again, I'll tell Rose that you wet the bed every night, moaning." After that, without turning around again, he walks out of the dormitory.

* * *

The Slytherin table in the Great Hall is buzzing with laughter and murmuring, which is often the case on a Hogsmeade weekend; most people want to leave early for the village, so they gobble down breakfast. The younger students are excited, especially the third graders can barely keep up on the benches, while the older students try to give an unaffected impression. Nevertheless, they are all there instead of sleeping longer.

Scorpius sits at the front of the table, his eyes focused on a book, his hand forgotten, hovering in the air in front of a chalice. His leather bag is lying next to him on the bench to save a place for Albus.

As he sits down, Scorpius puts a torn strip of parchment between the pages before slamming the book shut and turning to him, smiling. "Morning, Albus. I thought we were going to the village today, so I wanted to wait here for you before we can't find a place for two to sit. What's the matter with you...?"

What he has experienced seems monstrous, incomprehensible, so that words fail him. "Coffee," he hums and bends over to reach for a tin pot engraved with moons and stars. He hesitates for a moment because nowhere on the table he can find a cup, which seems strange to him. He frowned but then poured the coffee into his chalice without bothering.

"That's one way to do it," mumbles Scorpius and sighs, "I think Peeves stole all the cups to smash them somewhere. Well, I never came up with the chalice idea. And now I'll have to make do with pumpkin juice."

"Poor thing." Untouched, Albus drinks from his chalice and closes his eyes for a moment to feel the warmth of the coffee in his chest.

"Please," Scorpius snaps, "sprinkle salt in the wound as well. That's just typical. Must you enjoy it so obviously? I think you're back in your sarcastic, abysmal Albus-zone. What pushed you in again?"

Albus coughs and chokes on his coffee. "What? Albus-zone?" he gasps as he breathes again. "Why did you... Oh, wait. I can guess."

Still, Scorpius smiles enigmatically and explains it to him. "Well, either you're a good guy who can listen and respond without attacking the people around you. Or you're some nasty shadow of that good guy who reacts as if the whole world conspired against him, including me. This is the Albus-zone. I don't really need to talk to you at this stage. Otherwise, we might as well start fighting. When I think about it," he says and touches his chin as if he had to solve a complicated arithmetic problem, "I think you're that good guy right now."

Albus doesn't know whether to be pleased or offended by Scorpius' assessment of his person. Like it's a shame to get angry enough to fire a few bursts before everything's okay again. It's no different with Scorpius himself.

Actually, this would be a good subject for bickering, but Albus wants to prove Scorpius wrong and swallows his arguments. Probably they will sit in his stomach all day long. He flushes them down with a sip of coffee afterward. "Then you'll be glad I didn't kill Avery Fisher. Although not that much was missing, I can assure you."

"Oh, no. Don't tell me he did something embarrassing again. The last time was bad enough when he basically told your father about us." Scorpius gazes down at his chalice. "What is it this time?"

"Nothing. He just almost admitted to shadowing us," Albus replies. His voice trembles with suppressed rage. Scorpius twists his mouth. "Probably to report to his brother and to make sure the newspapers have enough to make a fuss."

"Almost? So actually, he didn't really do anything?"

"No, but I wish he had so I could stick his damn racing broom up his -"

"So there you are." Scorpius interrupts him with a ripple in the corners of his mouth. "Welcome to the Albus-zone."

Rolling his eyes, Albus throws a slice of toast onto his plate. "Damn the restraint!" he yells loudly so that the heads of some of the students turn to them, and Scorpius flinches. The embarrassment is the price and the drying of his anger the reward. He smiles provocatively at those who stare at him before he toasts them with the coffee chalice. Then he turns to Scorpius. "What do you think will happen if Kaden decides to have enough material?" he asks as if he hadn't just made a fool of them.

Ears glowing, Scorpius glares at him, but when he speaks, his voice is soft and quiet. "When he approaches the newspapers? At worst, he drags father into it. I spoke to him." Albus raises his head in disbelief. "You know, on Wednesday. When you were in your elective class, mine was canceled."

"You're really not into telling me important things, are you?" Albus comments and wrinkles his nose.

"I am honestly trying to better myself." Without further ado, he takes the chalice out of Albus' hand and sips a big gulp before he grimaces. "Urgh, what a horrible coffee. Anyway. Father is not worried. He said he could handle this childish wannabe blackmailer on his own, especially since nobody has anything on him. But both of us?" He shrugs his shoulders. "Everything applies to us. Hardly anyone can deny that. We made sure of that ourselves."

"Precisely. Except not we made sure. You put the pillow over your mouth and then you roared like a moose. Without a silencing charm."

Though Scorpius likes to pretend to be sexually experienced and utterly hard-boiled, he averts his face. Albus can still see the blush on his skin as it shimmers between his hair strands. Without commenting on his objection or looking up, Scorpius continues.

"We've been holding hands in public, and so - for now, they may only suspect it, but when Kaden comes along with his smear campaign, they will realize it's true. And ... If he then tells people the rumor about my father's alleged pedophilia, I'm sure they won't question it anymore. There - There are already a few ways we can deal with it, but not all of them are feasible. First, we could simply kill Kaden. That would be illegal, but probably very effective." Albus laughs, but then Scorpius looks at him with a surly expression. "That is out of the question. Second, we just do whatever he says. Father advised me against this because blackmailers always demand more from you when they get what they want. Thirdly, we take away his leverage."

"I like the first proposition. We could engrave his tombstone. ' _Kaden Fisher. Died by a broomstick in his guts_.' He pauses to give Scorpius a chance to admonish him, but he doesn't seem to be in the mood anymore. All he can bring out is a feeble smile, which immediately fades away again.

"Maybe we should begin with my tombstone as well. ' _Scorpius Malfoy, carried away by his own courage_ '," he mumbles and bites his lip.

"Huh?"

It only takes a moment before Scorpius turns on the bench and leans his upper body forward, but for Albus it feels like an eternity. He realizes what is about to happen and yet is unable to move, and then Scorpius' lips are on his, long fingers running through his uncombed hair, and every sound in the Great Hall is silenced.

"Damn the restraint," Scorpius whispers into the kiss.


	12. A commotion with consequences

Albus has to admit that he finds Scorpius' way of solving problems unspeakably fascinating. Uncomfortable, loud, and embarrassing, yes, but the concern about Kaden's blackmail has died in the stares of hundreds of students. While the newspapers will still report it (if they have nothing else to spread), it won't be a revelation story that no one has ever heard of, while Kaden's allegation will remain the story of a boy with no witnesses. Whether the media would take on Draco Malfoy and his lawyers for just that is questionable.

In any case, the plain truth wouldn't be something that will stir anybody for an extended period of time. Merely a minor side note, if anything, solely interesting because of their relatives. Boredom will kill people if they are fed this crap repeatedly, and it is Scorpius to whom Albus owes this. He didn't think of it himself, and if he had, the thought that he might embarrass Scorpius and add fuel to the bullying he already has to deal with would have stopped him.

Scorpius leans his forehead against Albus' and looks him in the eye for a long time. Meanwhile, a murmur begins to carry the word about their kiss out of many mouths and up to the ceiling of the Great Hall. It embitters Albus less than he expected, the gossip and laughter, significantly less than before, and he jerks his chin up excitedly, hitting soft skin with his lips.

Giggles, taunts; what does it matter when _he's_ the one who gets to nibble and lick Scorpius, when he's the chosen one who gets to intertwine his fingers in the wavy hair, blond though it is, but firm as the strings of an instrument, and who can elicit a deep sigh from Scorpius that sounds like he's been sucked out of this world.

Albus feels the same way. His tongue paints a trail on Scorpius' lips before entering his mouth. The sounds Scorpius emits seem to tear him away. He doesn't think as he leans forward and pushes his boyfriend backward, as he slides between his spread thighs, there's just the two of them and that core of heat in his abdomen, his chest, somewhere, expanding and expanding until it will explode in a rain of seared flesh -

"Professor, they're _having sex_ on top of me!"

The laughter and jeering that has surrounded them all along expands painfully into Albus' auditory canal, bringing him back to the present, to this dimension that seems downright pathetic in contrast to the state of his rapture. He comes to his senses and sees Scorpius, still with a half-smile, rubbing up against him, the back of his head resting on the shoulder of an older girl.

She has leaned back as well, staring wide-eyed into Albus' heated face. A muscle in her cheek twitches, and she begins waving her arm frantically. "Professor Longbottom!" she shrieks.

Albus leans back as fast as he can, pulling Scorpius along with him, who doesn't seem to mind and sucks on his neck, greedy and heated, as if oblivious to the commotion surrounding them. As if it were not him who is otherwise so terribly embarrassed that he immediately blushes at any contact with other people.

He wonders how such a thing can happen to himself. How is it possible that he loses himself in such a way?

Behind them suddenly stands Professor Longbottom. He looks down at them with an expressionless face before nodding his head toward the exit. "I see you'd like to hear a lesson today on everyone's favorite subject, indecent behavior. It's my pleasure. Follow me, please."

To his unbounded surprise, it is Scorpius who, with a smacking sensation from his neck, stands up and brushes the wrinkles from his linen trousers before following Professor Longbottom, while Albus still sits in his seat, returning his classmates' sneering grins with a bewildered stare. Finally, he too stands up, stumbles across the bench to his feet, and hurries after them. He can feel the stares at his back eating through his skin like acid, and he's glad he's wearing baggy pants instead of a cape.

Professor Longbottom stands in the entrance hall, elbows braced on the curved banister of the grand staircase, gazing at him in waiting. Unlike a minute ago, his expression is tense, and he taps his foot on the floor. Scorpius has positioned himself in front of him, so that Albus can only see his back and the red ears peeking out from his hair.

As he approaches the mismatched group, Professor Longbottom looks at their flushed faces before saying, "I'm going to have to deduct points from you, because it's against school rules to ... have sex at the dining table. True, there is not a word there about any other ... Um... practices with your clothes on, but you were reckless and apparently not in control. I think twenty-five points deduction for each of you is appropriate for this little .... fracas."

Albus can't remember ever seeing his teacher so embarrassed.

"Another personal request: Don't ever make me talk to you that way again," he adds, rubbing his cheek. "If you don't blow my cover, I'll let the rest slip under the table."

"The ... Rest?" asks Scorpius quietly.

Professor Longbottom smiles strained and turns away. "Penalty chores," he says, before walking past them, through the entrance hall, and out.

For a while, none of the boys say anything. They stand looking at each other, excited and embarrassed at the same time, and no one wastes a word on the students who walk past them, pointing their fingers and relaying the story of a scandalous kiss on their way to the village. There is nothing they can do about it, but that was out of the question anyway. Controlled triggered chatter that will soon die down.

Finally, Scorpius breaks the silence, grinning broadly. "Yesterday, making out in public didn't get you all that worked up. After everything that just went down in the Great Hall, I think there just weren't enough people in the courtyard to turn you on."

"It's not those airheads, it's you. Yesterday you licked me and grabbed me before I wanted you to. Today you kissed me, but left me alone afterwards. Let me start. That's all."

"I see." Suddenly Scorpius tugs at his shirt collar like it's too tight for him, then pulls his lower lip between his teeth. "You know, I don't feel like going to Hogsmeade after all. Instead, I'm going to take a shower. I feel so dirty that I'll probably forget to lock the stall. An embarrassing little mistake, after all, I wouldn't even hear if someone came in because of the loud rush of water. See you later, Albus."

Without looking at Albus, he hops up the stairs. This time he moves faster than usual. Still, Albus waits for a moment, while the rush of his bloodstream effortlessly drowns out the chatter of the other students.

He wipes his hands, damp with excitement, on his trousers and tries to focus his thoughts on the strange exchange of words between them, but he has no chance. Whatever Scorpius has triggered in him with his veiled invitation is untamable.

Unable to stand the arousal any longer, he goes after Scorpius.

* * *

Contrary to his expectation, their second time had been neither shameful nor frantic, but full of tenderness. Scorpius had turned his back on the cabin door and had not looked once while Albus undressed. Though the impulse to pounce on Scorpius did creep up on him for a moment, it ran away with the water down the drain the moment he embraced Scorpius' naked body, for the first time in his entirety.

They kissed and looked closely at one another and touched every inch of each other, making this experience fundamentally different from last week's. Though they took their time, it never occurred to Albus that he wasn't beautiful enough for Scorpius. Not this time. Under his gaze, it would have been downright impossible to feel ugly and dark and rotten.

After their caresses and kisses had grown more demanding, leading to a climax that left them both with trembling knees, Scorpius held him close and said something that stuck in his mind. "I want to make it work between us, Albus. Not like our parents. I ... I'll do anything not to fail in the same way. Will you help me with that?"

Of course he would help Scorpius, whatever it cost him.

After their shower, they dried off and got dressed. Suddenly the air in their shower stall is unbearable, humid and stuffy, making Albus feel like he's going to collapse at any moment. "I'm going out already," he murmurs to Scorpius, who is currently focused on drying his thick hair with a spell. "Just a second, I'll catch up with you," he replies, waving his wand a little too vigorously; glowing hot air pours from its tip. Disgusted, Albus turns away and stumbles out the door.

It is considerably more pleasant in the anteroom. The cool air brushes Albus' heated cheeks, causing him to take a deep breath before sliding along the sparkling clean granite tiles to the floor. Apart from the murmur of his friend, it is silent. No sound reaches to them through the corridors. It's as if they were alone in this vast castle, and Albus has to remind himself that they are not.

The murmuring finally dies away. Albus glances at the cabin door. Through a small crack, he can make out knees tucked into white, expensive trousers and a light-colored leather shoe peeking out from under the bench.

Instead of getting up and going back into the booth to talk, he stays where he is, poking around in a hole in his pants as he watches Scorpius' hands slip thin socks over his feet. Involuntarily, the question comes to his mind whether he has ever owned comfortable, child-sized clothes. The leather shoes, for example, undoubtedly make him look elegant, but they are not suitable for running.

All at once, Albus feels disgusting in his worn-out sneakers and his smelly shirt. He should have changed long ago, but after Scorpius' invitation to take a shower together, he didn't think of it.

Albus smiles sardonically. Actually, he didn't think at all.

Quickly, Scorpius slips into his shoes, stands up, and leaves the cabin without tying his laces. Relieved, Albus registers that his shirt is also stuck to his torso, and his hair is not perfect as usual either, but puffed up like a swept-up pile of straw.

When Scorpius notices his look, he grins and runs a hand through his hair, tousling it a little more. "Good thing they don't have mirrors in there, or you'd never get to see me like this."

"If you knew what you looked like while you were cumming," Albus retorts, biting his lip, "you wouldn't even bother with little things like that anymore." He jumps to his feet and walks out into the empty hallway. Despite the early hour, it is already dim. Rain clouds darken the sky, forming nests of shadows in the darker corners of the castle.

Scorpius comes after him and takes his hand as though it were a matter of course. "So bad?"

"I didn't say it looked bad." Albus pulls him into a hug. "Quite the opposite."

* * *

The additional course in Ancient Runes takes place on Saturday evening as well, and as Scorpius accompanies Albus to the classroom, a chilly wind drifts through the hallways. Rain whips against the windows, and every ten steps they are bathed in the firelight of a torch. It's so cold that Albus wonders if he just imagined the sunshine the day before.

"Ugh. Don't expect me to pick you up from class later," Scorpius mutters, tucking his hands under his armpits. He's also wearing one of those thick homespun sweaters Albus' grandma gives him every year for Christmas, but he still looks completely frozen. "I'm going to go through to the dormitory in a minute and lay down in bed. If you're looking for your blanket, I probably have it."

"Then I guess I'll occupy your bed this time. For a change," Albus grumbles. Though he's not cold in his Weasley sweater, the storm is tugging at his mood. Normally, he looks forward to class, but today he would rather sit in front of a fire and read, far away from people staring at him, even though nothing about him concerns them at all.

Scorpius shivers. "I don't mind."

As they turn the corner, Albus sees that the door to the classroom is open, pouring a bright glow of light into the darkness. Scorpius' cold hand rests on the back of his neck, and as he turns, his friend presses a trembling kiss to his mouth. "See you," he whispers, and turns away.

Albus watches him go until he can only make him out as a shadow, then he takes a deep breath. Though his heart begins to race, he takes the wand from his pocket and clutches it before walking toward the room. Whatever will happen in this hour, he will not put up with anything. He will answer every wrong word with a Tongue-Tying Curse, every shove and kick with a Full Body Bind.

As well intentioned as Scorpius may be about the public display of their relationship, at least Albus knows that their classmates will make them feel that they are different. It hadn't penetrated his consciousness in the morning, but now he notices it in the increasing number of heartbeats the closer he gets to the door: he fears what the other students might do to them.

His face smoothed into a blank, emotionless mask, he walks into the classroom and sits down. As expected, one of the Ravenclaw girls starts giggling, but when he looks at her and wrinkles his nose, she falls silent again, and no one else says anything. Not even Avery, who returns his gaze shyly, opens his mouth, though he can usually barely hold it.

Staring suspiciously at the scratch marks that turn the surface of the table into an uneven cratered landscape, Albus wonders whether he should be glad or brace himself for a big blow.

It takes only a few moments for Professor Nygaard to rush through the door. Again, she has a box with her, floating behind her. It's much larger than last week's, and its contents rattle as it slams down on the teacher's desk. This time, too, the teacher's cheeks are reddened by the wind, as if she had just returned from an expedition to recover enchanted artifacts.

Maybe that's the way it is, Albus muses. Perhaps she explores some burial mounds in Norway in her spare time to salvage treasures, always on the lookout for Draugar and worse. He once read about these creatures, undead who live on with full life force in their rotting bodies, unable to leave the places where they were buried.

Professor Nygaard smiles at them ingenuously and taps on their box. "Today we have some new objects to marvel at again. Before we start, we'll examine and archive the ones we have already seen." She points to a tall shelf with empty compartments behind small glass windows. "They are protected from scratches and bumps, but unfortunately not from the decay that time brings."

Despite her cheerfulness, Albus finds his suspicions confirmed. If he assumes that the teacher is not exactly acquiring such treasures in a junk store, she must have found other sources of supply. He glances at the nondescript box, its lid tightly closed. If he curled up, he might be able to squeeze himself inside. Hundreds of goblets must fit in the box, and if she procured them in a mere week, he wouldn't be surprised if she were a grave robber.

What do Rune Masters do in their spare time?

Shuddering, Albus stands up and pushes forward with his classmates.

* * *

Albus has barely taken part in the merry cleanup, because one object alone has caught his attention: The binding ring he noticed last week. The power that had lain within it has noticeably diminished. While a jolt went through his arm the last time he touched it, there was only a slight tingling this time.

The ring reminded him of what Scorpius had said to him. _I'll do anything not to fail in the same way_.

Even as Professor Nygaard dismisses them and Albus steps out into the corridor with the other students, he is still lost in thought. He stops, watching as they all hastily walk away in different directions, trying to squeeze some more free time out of the evening. For a moment, he wonders if he shouldn't also try to put another twist on the weekend by persuading Scorpius to spend the night in the Room of Requirement.

He has long since packed away his wand, having carelessly assumed that no one would try to harm him, at least that evening. As soon as the door closes behind him, he realizes how hasty he has been. Something hard hits the back of his knee, pain drives through his leg in a flash and almost makes him buckle, gasp, and before he can react, his attacker comes from the side. He sees the fist out of the corner of his eye, but it's too late. Just a blink of an eye later, he feels the knuckles hit his cheek balls to the wall.

The force yanks him around and he topples to the side, losing his balance and hitting his head hard on the stone floor. There is a roaring in Albus's ears and his cheek feels numb and splintered at the same time. He feels himself shaking. Fear mixes with anger. Unconsciously, he tenses and braces himself on his arms, pushes upward. Dizziness seizes him and makes him stagger against the wall.

His vision is blurry, but he can make out the two boys well enough in the glow of the torch. Avery, with a distorted expression on his face, fiddles with his cloak, his movements erratic. He seems to be trembling, while his brother bares his teeth and stares at Albus, making him feel that this was far from over.

Apparently Mr. Malfoy was right in his assessment that it shouldn't have stopped at one demand, because Albus certainly doesn't want anything more to do with Avery. Kaden isn't stupid enough to not realize that. Still, he attacked him after his leverage was gone. It doesn't surprise Albus - he just should have expected it, should have guarded against such cowardly maneuvers.

Actually, he does know how things work in his house. Until now, he has been so proud to have survived alone in this environment, and now his newfound confidence will be his downfall. This stupidity of not caring about the others anymore, just because he now has also found a connection, is catching up with him finally.

Kaden raises his wand and points it at Albus. He can still barely keep on his feet, he is staggering precariously, and the path his arm has to take to reach his own wand seems so endless to him. He has no more time to defend himself.

"No, Kaden, don't do that!" screeches Avery, and then he does something Albus wouldn't have expected: he latches onto Kaden's wand arm, tugging at it, making it impossible for him to ignore it and keep aiming at Albus.

The scuffle gives him a few precious seconds, and Albus no longer thinks about whether or not he can do it; his hand slides quiveringly into his pocket, fumbles for his wand, and tugs it out. The incantations of terrible curses bubble in his brain, and he is tempted to utter one of them.

Fortunately, he doesn't get around to it; the wand flies out of Kaden's hand and hurtles toward Albus. For a split second, he wonders if he might have unwittingly cast a spell and disarmed Kaden, but when he catches it, it lurches in his hand as if it had not yet reached its destination.

Confused, Albus looks from the foreign wand trying to wrench itself out of his hand to Kaden, on whose face an expression of sheer horror has formed. Then a slender figure steps out from behind Albus.

"Oh, what cowardly little boys you are!" she hisses, taking Kaden's wand from Albus' hand. "Accordingly, you won't mind if I keep it for now. You can pick it up from your father then. Now get out of here!"

As if paralyzed, Albus watches as Avery drags Kaden along with him. He leans against the wall, still dizzy, and cools his throbbing cheek on the cold stone. It takes him a moment to scrape up the courage to look at his mother.

Her face looks pale, but anger makes her cheeks glow, and the hand in which she holds her broom quivers. She blows her hair, disheveled from the long flight, out of her face and pulls Albus into a tight hug. "I just can't believe it. This damn school!"

Though he's thought himself strong and brave for the most part so far, a bloodcurdling sob drips from his mouth. "It's okay. I know the Fishers well, so to speak," she says somberly. "I'll make sure they never do that again."

Albus doesn't care that she's meddling in his affairs, because a much bigger worry is brewing inside him. His mother has never visited him at Hogwarts. As the star of the Holyhead Harpies, she has never made time for it. His head throbs painfully in time with the question of what could have driven her out to see him late that evening.


	13. Approach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have now decided to publish all parts of Black Sheep merged into a single project.  
> This has the advantage that it won't be quite so confusing and the timeline will be coherent - besides the fact that it will be a bit more diversified when now and then a different protagonist appears.
> 
> With 'White Dragon' I had already uploaded a chapter of the spin-off, which I have now added to the story. You can now find Harry's chapter as the tenth chapter of Black Sheep.
> 
> I apologize for the confusion - but maybe it really makes things a little nicer.

The noble riding broom leans forgotten against the wall, while Albus's mother is doctoring him. She murmurs various healing spells, only one of which he knows ( _Episkey_ ), and gradually the droning in his head subsides. Like a balm, the magic settles on his aching flesh, and the pinching in his cheekbone also fades.

He must have looked terrible, because his mother's lips tightened into a line as she looked at him, while anger made her hand tremble. She still hasn't calmed down as she says grimly, "Well, at least nothing will be left behind. But I really wonder, Albus, why you didn't want to go to the hospital wing. Are you really not going to report those creeps?"

The lump in his throat prevents him from speaking, so Albus clears his throat awkwardly as he goes over his options again. If he does report Kaden, he'll no doubt get in a lot of trouble. Still, it's unlikely that his first offense will lead directly to him being expelled. So he'll have Kaden on his back, angrier and probably more prone to violence than before. If he could deal with him on his own, he'd have a better chance.

"Not if you give me Fisher's wand, Mom. Then I can do it on my own."

Ginny frowns and looks at him for a long moment, and it's the doubt speaking from her posture that gives him a bigger sting than the cowardly attack earlier. He turns his face away. "You don't believe in it, do you?" he asks softly, slumping backward against the wall.

"No, it's not that, Albus. I may forget sometimes that you're not a child anymore, but I absolutely trust you to stand up for yourself." The resolute tone makes him glance up. She looks at him tenderly, then reaches out a hand to place it on his shoulder. "You managed that with your brother, after all. However, I'm going to take the wand to Donovan Fisher so he can finally start discipline his children."

Albus actually had nothing to do with James' downfall. It was his father and Mr. Malfoy who put a hold to his demeanor, but he keeps quiet about it. He has a plan to stop Kaden from ever attacking anyone again, but to do that, he has to convince his mother to hand him that wand.

"Mom, I don't mind you talking to that man," Albus says calmly, trying to sound as reasonable as possible. "I'm sure Kaden will try to twist things around. But that's exactly what it is; there's a lot more to it than that. He didn't pick me at random."

As expected, the brown in his mother's eyes darkens. "I think we should talk about this somewhere else." She turns away, walks toward the Ancient Runes classroom, and pushes down the door handle as a test. The room is unlocked, but by now the light source has dried up. "Come on, let's continue talking in here. I'm more comfortable if we're in private."

His mother is conjuring up a few balls of light, which whir toward the ceiling and settle there, when Albus hesitantly enters the empty classroom. Although he has not seen Professor Nygaard leave, she has clearly disappeared. He knows from his Aunt Hermione that you can neither apparate nor disapparate at Hogwarts. Tensely searching, he looks around.

"Is everything okay?"

Nowhere can he spot another door or exit. He shakes himself and trots to where he normally sits in class. "Yeah, everything's okay. It's just weird being here when Professor Nygaard isn't around."

Silently, his mother sits down in the chair next to him. "It was quite normal for your father to sneak around the school at night," she counters dryly, then smiles sadly. "Tell me about your problem with this boy."

Albus leans back and tucks his hair behind his ear. The best thing will be to stick to the truth. He knows his mother; a lie certainly won't convince her. "The thing is, he was blackmailing me. What exactly he was trying to accomplish, I don't know. In the beginning, he was just out to get me to stay away from his brother." He snorts in disgust. "Even though I didn't want to be friends with Avery in the first place, he didn't care."

He pauses, but his mother just nods and waits for him to continue. Albus swallows and closes his eyes, for now comes the part he dreads. Still, he will have to talk it out.

"Scorpius Malfoy is ... He's my friend. But that - that's not all." Suddenly, Albus realizes that he's putting all his eggs in one basket right now. In his estimation, his mother would understand, but if he was wrong -

"Keep talking, Al. You need never be afraid to confide in me about anything."

His heart pounds so desperately that he even seems to feel the beating in his throat. He clenches his hands in the hem of his sweater and hastily pushes out the words. "Scorpius and I are a couple. That's what Kaden was blackmailing me with. He was going to let the public know about it and ... And get our families involved. But that didn't work, because Scorpius kissed me in front of everyone. That - that's the reason for the attack right now."

"Oh dear," his mother murmurs, burying her face in her hands.

All at once, Albus' courage sags. He rather expected such a reaction from Harry. "Mom, what is it?" he asks shakily.

"That ... We'll talk about that later." Her slender hands sink back to the table, and she shakes her head. Then she looks at him, blinking. "And you're going to blackmail him with his own wand now, so he'll ... Leave both of you alone, yeah?"

"Something like that."

Again she shakes her head. "Oh, Albus. You're only fifteen years old. I've given up on it for a while with James, but I did hope that after he was taken away, you could have a normal, happy childhood. Without all these problems," she says wanly.

Her words annoy him, and Albus crosses his arms in front of his chest. "And you think if I liked a girl, everything would be better?"

"I think everything would be better without blackmail and that damn media," she replies dryly, raising an eyebrow. "Like it would bother me that you like boys. Why do you think your Uncle Charlie never married?"

A relieved smile tugs at the corners of Albus' mouth. "That's news to me; I always thought he just never found anyone because, well, there aren't that many employees at the Dragon Colony."

"But there is one particular employee who is never around when I visit my brother. The last time I saw this guy, he was in Charlie's bed, and since then he's always had a special assignment when I arrive. Really mysterious." She grins, and when she notices Albus' embarrassment, she bursts out laughing. "Sorry, too much information, huh?"

"It's not - It's okay." Of course, he's pleased that his mother can be so flippant about a subject that has caused Albus great anxiety and thus relieve his fear, but this anecdote makes him uncomfortable. Suddenly, he feels the urge to change the subject. "Why are you even here, Mom? Not that it's not nice, but ... It's unusual. Did something happen?"

His mother's cheerful expression collapses. "I came here for two reasons. One, because I wanted to see you. I know your father was here for your birthday, but I felt bad that I didn't come!"

She leans over to reach for his hand and squeeze it. Involuntarily, he can't help but think of how much smaller his hand was when she last did this, and how much has happened since then. "It's okay, Mom. I understand. You had an important match, didn't you?"

"I had, but I could have taken the day off. It didn't come as easily to me as it should have, but that has nothing to do with you." Her gaze darts to the door, as if looking for an escape route. That impression, along with the sad undertone running through her words, makes Albus' stomach lurch. "I hope you'll let me make it up to you."

"Like I said, it's okay," Albus replies hesitantly.

The fact that she's even talking about taking time off puts him on alert. No doubt his mother is a kind woman who cares a lot about her children, but she's never missed a match before or even talked about missing one - and no one's ever expected her to, except maybe Grandma Molly, but she finds fault with everything anyway.

"Besides, I've come to talk to you about something that .... Well, actually, I was going to tell you kids with your father, but he can't bring himself to do it." Again she squeezes his hand, but by now her touch brings Albus no succor, for her arm trembles. It is the only preparation for what she is about to tell him.

"I am going to break up with your father, Albus."

* * *

Albus notices that his mother is struggling with her tears. She bites her lower lip as if the pain will distract her, but still the look in her eyes blurs. It takes him a while to swallow away the lump in his throat and stand up, and when he does, his legs feel like they're filled with Jell-O.

Awkwardly, he stalks around his table and squats in front of his mother, then pulls her into his arms. Unresisting, she lets herself slide off the chair and press against his chest. This time he's the one helplessly stroking her back, waiting for her to catch herself.

"Oh, Al, it's not that bad," she whispers, but clings to his sweater. "I'm your mom, I should comfort _you_."

He wants to tell her that the breakup doesn't surprise him. Maybe also what nonsense it is that he shouldn't comfort her when she's miserable after all. When he opens his mouth, the words are lost on their way out, and instead he just asks, "Why?"

"Because I'm the older and wiser of us, that's why." She laughs with a snort, then leans back and sits on the floor without a fuss. Energetically, she wipes her eyes with the sleeves of her lime green traveling cape. "Even if it's hard to believe right now."

"I get it," Albus mutters, rolling his eyes, though he's not annoyed at all. It's just an attempt to slip back into his old role of difficult teenager, and he's relieved that he seems to be succeeding and his mother is sticking her tongue out at him. Albus drops onto his butt and leans against the table so they are facing each other.

For a while, no one says anything. The balls of light flit across them, bathing them alternately in light and shadow. It almost seems to Albus as if he were nine years old again. Back then, they'd been sitting on a blanket outside watching fireworks; James had scrambled out as soon as their parents spread the blanket because he didn't want to be seen with his uncool family, and Harry had hiked up a hill with Lily on his shoulders to be closer to the action. It was one of the few moments he had been alone with his mother.

He sighed. "I always thought that you were at Quidditch so much because at some point you didn't get along with Dad. But now ..."

His mother stares at him. "You're the first one who's noticed. Either that, or your siblings were too polite to say so."

Albus thinks of James, who has always been preoccupied with himself, and Lily, who steadfastly assumes that everything is fine, and shakes his head. "I don't know if they've bothered with that. At least with James, I can't imagine him being polite."

"Probably not. He was home when I broke up with your father. He threw it at me that it was stupid of me - and that he was staying with his dad." She shrugs. "They've been on good terms lately anyway, so I certainly wouldn't try to take him to Quidditch camp against his will."

"I would have thought he'd like nothing better than to go there with you," Albus counters, frowning. "Especially since he's playing himself, after all."

"Oh, I have a hunch about what's stopping him. And ... It's hard for me to tell you this, Al. You have to know that no matter what you think, it's not your fault. And no matter what your brother might try to tell you." She looks into his eyes for a long time, as if searching for something specific there, and at some point he averts his gaze in alarm. "Do you understand? It's _my_ decision, my darling, and has nothing to do with you."

Automatically, he thinks about what he might have done to ruin his parents' marriage, and only one thing comes to mind: reading from Mr. Malfoy's diary, throwing his father into an obvious crisis. "Mom, please don't tell me I've -"

She groans. "Albus, no. You haven't done anything! You know, when I came home on Wednesday, your father was a wreck, but that's not your fault! He's been fooling himself for so long that the truth has rocked him, no matter what it was that jolted it."

"So ... it's really because ..." Suddenly Albus' voice fails him, and he bites the inside of his cheek. What his mother is saying is about exactly what he has been telling himself, and it sounds logical. Still, he can't shake the feeling of being responsible for all of this.

"Your brother may never forgive me for picking on Harry until he admitted what was bothering him so much. He looked at me as if he blamed me." Somberly, his mother shakes her head. "But blaming never helped anyone, and most of all, it doesn't change the fact that your father still loves that bastard."

Albus' thoughts are racing. He thinks of this bastard being the man he came to know as someone who would protect his son far beyond any bounds of shame. He thinks of the steadfastness with which he is always there for his child. He is proud, strong and kind to those he likes, but if one has angered him, one must expect fights, most of which one will leave as a loser.

All at once he is shaken by a feeling that burrows out from several layers of forgiveness forced on him by himself and seems to suffocate everything else. It is intensified by the poorly suppressed pain in his mother's features, and by Harry's mendacious words in his own hypocritical tone, which still flare in his brain when he thinks of all that the has accused him of. But Albus has never been as obnoxious, humiliating, and vicious as Harry.

What kind of creep does one have to be to marry a woman so similar in character to Mr. Malfoy while still loving him? The realization bores through his furiously pounding heart like an arrow.

He was just using her to distract himself from the man.

"Mom, I'm going to kill him," Albus says. His voice quivers with the hatred that has eaten into every cell by now.

For a second, the corners of his mother's mouth tremble, before she frowns worriedly and moves closer to him until she is sitting right in front of him and he can smell her scent. Then she clasps his head with her hands, caresses his cheeks, and murmurs, "No, honey, no. You have to let me handle this, okay? A little anger is fine, but don't be so furious with your father, he did the best he could."

"You said he still loves that bastard. _Still_! That means he's never stopped since he was in school! Mom, he's been lying to you and me for that matter, lying to himself from the beginning!" growled Albus. "I'm not angry, I _hate_ him. How can someone be like that? How can a person who -"

"Albus, please," his mother interrupts him. "I can't tell you what's been going on inside him either, and actually I'm rather glad about it. But he's obviously sorry, and he can't change it any more now."

Suddenly unable to bear his mother's gaze, he turns his head away, staring into the shadows under the teacher's desk. "Even if I forgave him for treating me like dirt - and I did! Believe me, I really felt like I could talk to him again. But I can't get over the fact that he did the same thing in worse to you and _pretended_ it was different!"

The shadows blur with his tears. He doesn't try to hide them, because that would do no good. It's as if the hatred is driving everything out of him that no longer has a place there.

"I haven't forgiven him for how he treated you, Al." She brushes his hair behind his ear. Instead of making things easier for him, the gesture only drives the sting deeper into his flesh. "But you don't have to do anything, even though you can't seem to forgive him right now. I'm leaving him. That will have to do."

"But I'm not going to live with him! I don't care if you even have time for me, Mom, I can never see him again!" he blurts out. His heart is still racing, but after saying the gist, he finds it easier to breathe.

"Of course you can't. Al, I'll do what I can to get custody of you."

He turns his head in her direction so quickly it cracks in his neck. Custody! He has assumed that children would automatically be placed with their mother in the event of a separation. She doesn't notice his horror, smiles at him confidently, and keeps talking. "I guess you'll have to prepare to make a statement at the Ministry about how you definitely don't want to stay with your father."

The idea of standing in front of a hundred dusty wizards and witches to tell them that he has no intention of living under the same roof as Harry Potter for even a second sends a derisive laugh up inside him that he struggles to suppress. They would hardly believe him that their hero physically abused him. How they'll be amazed when he names a witness or two, creating a scandal that once again snaps his good father's neck. "I can't wait."

He probably sounded a little too eager, because his mother's eyes suddenly narrow. She scrutinizes him as if trying to shine a light through him.

With an uncomfortable tug in his stomach, Albus wonders how much she knows. Whether Harry has told her about gripping his arm so tightly that the bruise has taken weeks to fade?

He can't imagine it, but he can't tell her either. What if she then tries to prevent a hearing? In the end, the decision makers would decide to force Albus to see his father, and that will destroy him.

"I look forward to seeing his face when he hears from my mouth that I don't want to stay with him," Albus says quietly. Indeed, his lie succeeds; the distrust in his mother's features gradually melts away. Despite the small twinge of guilt in his chest, he returns her gaze for a while until she pulls him into her arms.

"Like a true Slytherin," she murmurs, laughing. "You take care of that Kaden, dear. I'll take care of everyone else."

* * *

They sit there for a while, nestled close together. At least Albus feels good about the peace and quiet and his mom's shoulder, because it makes it easier for him to get his thoughts in order.

He knows stories of other children of divorced parents who suffer terribly from the separation of their parents. Even when he heard them, he could hardly comprehend the pain, but he shrugged his shoulders and thought to himself that you must be in those kids' shoes to understand. Now that the time has come for him, he just feels relieved.

In no time, his mother will be laughing at the top of her lungs again, without that weight on her soul that the constant arguments at home have dumped on her. It seems to have happened imperceptibly, but now he realizes that the ideal image of their family has long since shifted for him. His war with James may have overshadowed it, this gradual rift. It seems to him that they all no longer belonged together anyway.

At one point, his mother fiddles with her sleeves. Apparently she's been looking at her watch, because she draws in a sharp breath. "Damn it! Albus, curfew starts in ten minutes. Come on, I'll still take you downstairs to the dungeons."

Reluctantly, Albus groans, but gets to his feet and holds out his hand to his mother to help her up. While they both know she's probably fitter than he is, she does him the favor and lets him help her up. Then she winks at him. "Thanks, Al."

"Mom, can you hold on a minute? I just want to ... I want to continue working on a project tomorrow. I'm just going to get something."

"Sure."

Without further ado, he walks toward the display cabinet where Professor Nygaard's treasures are stored behind glass display windows. Still they seem unremarkable, hardly worth mentioning, and even the plaques are of pronounced simplicity.

He finds the compartment of the ring immediately, for his gaze is drawn to it as if calling to Albus. "Binding ring from Norway, 16th century," reads the unadorned iron plaque. His hand trembles as he holds it out for a small hole in the glass, which seems to be covered by a shimmering mesh. Professor Nygaard has explained to them that she has carved four runes into each of the display windows to permanently slow down time inside, and Albus holds his breath as he reaches his finger, wedges it in, and pushes the glass aside.

No alarm sounds, no spell shoots out to paralyze him. Maybe Professor Nygaard didn't think of an anti-theft protection. Or maybe she didn't think it was necessary, because who would steal a hammer, for example, whose power allowed a talented blacksmith to forge steel without fire ages ago?

As fantastic as it sounds, its usefulness would be highly controversial in the Wizarding World today.

The ring emits a faint flicker that travels up his arm through his fingertip, otherwise nothing happens as he picks it up and slides it into his pants pocket. Heart pounding wildly, he slides the window back into place and turns.

The loving smile on his mother's face makes it hard for him to go back to her, as if he hadn't just stolen from his teacher in front of her. But he will need that ring to not end up the same way, with red-rimmed eyes and a tremor at the corners of his mouth and a hole where his heart should be.


	14. Overestimation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note in case you didn't catch the change; I merged all the projects in this series into one.  
> If you haven't read Harry's chapter (White Dragon, Chapter 1), you'll find it now as the tenth chapter - The rotten heart.
> 
> I'm not sure how or if you get notified on this page when a subscribed story is updated - so if you don't know the reason for Ginny's visit to Hogwarts yet, please read chapter 13.
> 
> That's basically it, it's business as usual from here on out.

Their walk through the cold of the castle at night to the dungeons is uneventful, and his mother interrupts the thoughtful silence between them to tell Albus a few stories from their school days. The fact that she wants to take his mind off things, even though her separation from Harry doesn't exactly make him feel bad, gives him a certainty that expands warmly in his chest. For the first time he feels without a trace of doubt that his mother loves him.

It's a few general memories and impressions she shares with him, about how clean it used to be when the despicable slavery of house elves was commonplace, the obligation to wear cloaks not only in class but from morning to night, or some stories about her housemates. Albus finds it both interesting and relieving. Usually it's Harry who talks about the old days, but in his case it's just about Lord Voldemort - and his ongoing battle against this cold-blooded murderer. He is aware that there was an everyday life beyond the war, but it is stories like this that make the past come alive for him.

"That Won-Won thing was terribly embarrassing to all of us, except Ron and Lavender," she says with a smile as they walk down the steps of the long staircase together by the light of their wands. "At some point, he broke it off by just ignoring her."

Albus frowns. "Say what you will, but that's just mean."

"Of course it's mean. Not only that, it's just plain asshole behavior. I'd like to say your uncle would be more empathetic by now, but when you call him on it, he makes himself out to be a victim."

"Mom, you should have mentioned that she forced him into the relationship, though," Albus retorts sarcastically, snorting.

His mother laughs at his remark. "It would be nice if we could hear her side of the story." Although she sounds cheerful, a sudden dreadful uneasiness tugs at his guts.

Straining, he tries to remember if he's ever heard the name Lavender Brown. At least it wasn't on the huge memorial stone, Albus is sure. Since Godric's Hollow has nothing to offer children beyond playing with friends, he spent a good part of his childhood sitting in the shadow of the stone, reading the names of those killed in the war, over and over, until he was called to dinner.

Still. It didn't sound like she was still capable of telling her story herself. "What happened to her?" he asks, apprehensively.

Normally, he can live with the fact that some of the children his parents went to school with never had the chance to grow up. Why now, of all things, this girl, whom he heard about for the first time tonight, is upsetting him, he can't explain at first.

Maybe it's the same thing as with Professor Snape, he thinks. People who have been treated lousily by those who are the heroes in everyone's perception seem to touch him in a special way.

When his mother's face darkens and she stops on the stairs, he gulps. Suddenly he wishes he hadn't asked and that an answer would elude him.

"A cruel werewolf named Fenrir Greyback got her," she murmurs. Albus shudders. He knows the name well; after all, the man was one of the reasons for years of dreading the night during his childhood. "She didn't last a job after that. You're worried, aren't you?"

The beam of light from her wand grazes his chest and flickers across his face. Reluctantly, he turns his head away and goes down a step. Still, he grumbles a "Sort of," to get his mother to stop shining the light on him.

"You don't have to, Al. Last I heard from her, she was living in Paris with her wife. If that's not a happy ending, I don't know what is." She takes a few steps, but Albus, surprised by the change in mood, stops.

"Her _wife_? And with me, you're like, 'Oh dear,' and you're holding your hands in front of your face. Yet Scorpius is just my boyfriend," he stammers.

"That, my dear," his mother turns and bathes him in far too bright light again, "I didn't say that because of the fact that you're with a boy. I was more concerned with _which_ boy you were falling in love with." The corners of her mouth curl. "It caught me off guard - so soon after I found out who your father loved so much that it could still shatter his life today."

"Mom, I'm sorry. If I had known what ..."

She waves it off. "Don't worry about it. I'm glad you told me, really."

As they continue on their way, Albus ponders what it would be like to leave with Scorpius. Leaving Britain behind, ditching their parents, and settling somewhere where no one knows them. He imagines it exciting and liberating. In his imagination, they live on a hill in a green, overgrown nowhere. At most, other houses can be seen in the distance, and the people living in them are superficially friendly, but just as withdrawn as he is and happy to be left alone. A whole new beginning, a new life.

He knows that there is no such place, but it is a nice thought that lifts his spirits as they head into the dungeons.

As soon as they turn the corner into the corridor, Albus spots Scorpius leaning against the wall, staring gloomily at the floor. The green Weasley-jumper seems oddly out of place on a boy he's only known in the most expensive, elegant clothes, like something clearly edited into a photograph afterwards.

As Albus tries to approach him, his mother puts a hand on his shoulder and holds him back. "Before you join your boyfriend," she whispers, "I want you to take this. You know what this is. The spell goes: _I solemnly swear that I am up to no good_. Remember that. Use it to avoid the Fishers if you can help it."

Then she presses a small cloth bag into his hand. Albus feels that there is not only the map inside, but also something solid and elongated. Kaden's wand.

"Mom, you're giving me the Marauder's Map?" he murmurs in awe.

He has come to know it as a relic from his father's stories. Its special powers often saved his neck back then and allowed him to see much more than anyone else, and accordingly he kept it safe so his children wouldn't get to it.

Of course, at James' prompting, he showed it to them, and although only the headmistress's name was on it, they were enraptured by the treasure. James held out his hands for it, trembling with greed, but Harry shook his head. "I'll keep that. To keep you in bed at night," he said, before shrinking it and putting it in his wallet.

And now Albus, of all people, is holding it in his hands.

"Yes. I'm sure it was one of your father's more grown-up ideas to hide it from James and you while you were at Hogwarts together." She frowns. "Well, he changed his mind and thought you might need it. I didn't realize why, but ..." Suddenly she grins cheekily and nips Albus in the side. "I guess he knows about you and Scorpius, huh? He didn't tell me, of course."

Suddenly, a shameful heat spreads across Albus' cheeks. Is this an invitation to sneak away with his friend so they can be alone? He clears his throat. "I didn't ... I thought that -"

The grin on his mother's face widens as she watches him squirm for a moment. "I'm not saying anything about it, Al. You know how to ... _protect_ yourself." He winces, and she giggles. Then she stretches and presses a kiss to his forehead. "Floo me if you're feeling bad or want to talk about something, all right? Take care, Albus."

"You too, Mom."

She turns away and walks down the hall. Albus looks after her, seeing her wave her wand and a short time later catch her broom out of the air as it hurtles towards her. Without turning around again, she disappears behind the corner.

"I was worried about you," Scorpius murmurs beside him, intertwining his cold fingers with Albus'. "Been waiting for you, but because it was so late, I didn't dare come looking for you."

"My mom's divorcing Harry," he mutters, and Scorpius draws in a sharp breath. "Because of that thing on my birthday. Apparently he never stopped loving your dad."

All at once tired and weary, Albus turns to him and wraps his arms around his boyfriend's slender shoulders. The sound of the chime announcing curfew booms through his body, but he stays there for a while, leaning against the person whose presence alone is enough to make him rest.

All the while, his fingers clutch the bag that will help him carry them to safety.

* * *

That night, Albus sits on Scorpius' bed and watches his chest rise and fall, unable to quiet his thoughts and find sleep himself. Even though the dormitory is heated, a shiver runs through his body after Scorpius stomps the covers off at some point, and he wraps his arms around his chest.

They've talked at length about his parents' separation. Scorpius has drawn the curtains and shielded his bed with spells so no one can overhear them before snuggling up to him and stroking his back like a mother soothing her crying baby. Albus has felt stupid, but he's been far too distracted to tell him he doesn't need comforting, so he's closed his eyes and allowed Scorpius' efforts.

At some point, Scorpius confided in him that now he too was worried about his family. "I think my father is still in love with yours, too," he whispered, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, so Albus held him close and returned the comfort. After a while, he fell asleep, leaving Albus alone with his thoughts.

He probably has every reason to be afraid, Albus muses. If Harry senses even the slightest chance of getting through to Mr. Malfoy, he'll try it and wreck everything in his path. From what he's learned from the diary and gleaned from their fathers' expressions, he wouldn't be surprised if Mr. Malfoy fell out to meet him as soon as he wiggled his butt just once.

He looks at his friend's face for a long time. Now, asleep, it looks so peaceful and carefree that his cynical thoughts sting him. If this really happens, it will pull the rug out from under Scorpius, he has realized that much this evening. He wonders if the fact that he suddenly seems so childlike to Albus has something to do with how sheltered he grew up.

As tired as he had been after his mother said goodbye to him, he feels awake now. Without thinking for long, he swings his legs out of bed, careful not to wake Scorpius, bends over and slips on his shoes.

He has stuffed the bag with the map and wand under the pillow, and as he pulls it out, his heart begins to race. Not because he's breaking some school rules (despite the fact that he's not a daredevil like his brother, this is nothing new to him), but because he's about to reach out for the one opportunity that will change his life.

He pulls on the drawstring, opens the pouch, and pulls out the Marauder's Map. Then he unfolds it, takes his wand from his nightstand, and taps it on the large, blank area of parchment. " _I solemnly swear that I am up to no good_ ," he whispers into the night silence.

Line by line, the plan of the school paints itself onto the map. It takes him a few moments to get his bearings, but then he spots Scorpius and himself, two dots squeezed tightly together and overshadowed by banners bearing their names. From here, he'll have no trouble reading the map to look for the best route to the seventh floor without getting caught in his excursion.

He waits a few minutes, staring nervously at the alarm clock on Scorpius' nightstand, until Professor Slughorn's dot disappears from the common room. After that, he seems to pause in front of the entrance until he makes off in the direction of the entrance hall. Fortunately, Albus doesn't have to go that way; in fact, there are a few ways to get to the higher levels of the castle out of the dungeons.

Before he sets off, he makes sure one more time that the path he has chosen is deserted. Of course, it's risky, and he'll have to walk with the map in front of his face if he really wants to be safe. After one last look at Scorpius, who is now wrinkling his nose but still seems to be fast asleep, Albus sneaks out of the dormitory.

He makes swift progress, and all the way up to the fifth floor, every decision he makes seems to be the right one. Although the night blackness plays tricks on his eyes, the shadows wafting at the edge of his vision as if they were alive, he refrains from casting a lighting spell. His heart hammers with fear, but if he had lit the way, he would have been caught by Filch only minutes after he set out, overlooked on the map by his excitement.

He presses himself against the wall, waiting, staring at the map until the dot moves away from him. By now he's already feeling less confident, and when he spots Slughorn, already back in the empty common room, he feels queasy. If he had left later, he would have walked right into his arms.

On the fifth floor, outside the Transformation classroom, the tide turns, for Professor Nygaard is standing there, leaning against the door and seeming to gaze into the void before her as if she were standing guard. When Albus spots her name on the card, close to his, he presses himself flat against the wall. Squinting his eyes, he can make out a bright spot in the distance.

Heart pounding, he waits a minute, on the verge of abandoning his night hike, but his teacher apparently doesn't move an inch, and every second he stands here, the likelihood of another teacher spotting him increases. He stares at the map, but of course it doesn't tell him what to do now.

Not exactly, anyway. With some effort, Albus suppresses a snort, turns in the opposite direction, and walks quickly toward a staircase that will carry him from here to the seventh floor - assuming he isn't discovered first.

This time he is lucky. The stairwell is as empty as the hallway he staggers into. Still, despite the cold, he is drenched in sweat by the time he reaches the Room of Requirement.

Albus doesn't pause, he can't afford to, so he spurs himself to summon the door and drops inside as soon as the handle has peeled itself from the stone of the wall. Panting, he throws it shut behind him. For a second, deep darkness surrounds him, but then green flames flicker in fire baskets on the walls, two on each side.

The room is square, cramped and crowded, but it is more than Albus could ever have wished for. For the most part, the walls are lined with tables piled high with all sorts of junk. He gazes in amazement at a large, stone sink that is as high as he is and more reminiscent of a shower. In a hodgepodge of stuff on the next table, he discovers things he will surely need once he gets things in order; pliers of various sizes, fireproof, arm-length needles, an earthenware pot with a lid, and a whole pile of thick, scaly gloves.

He can even make out the back of a sofa under long strips of fabric. How convenient, Albus thinks sarcastically. As if he'd come here to sit comfortably and stare at the junk that almost cracks the tables.

The door is flanked by two bookshelves, each reaching to the next corner of the room. Curious, he strolls along them, and as his pulse calms, he strokes the titles with his fingertips. He can't decipher much of the embossed writing; some might be written in languages that have long since died out. The weathered volumes must be such a treasure that he hardly dares touch them.

He passes ' _The Art of Rune Engraving. An Introduction_ ', reaches for ' _Twenty Methods of Modern Enchantment_ ', flips through it before shoving it back on the shelf, and pulls out ' _Interactions of Substances_ ' instead. The illustrations in the book confuse him more than they show him anything new (depictions of molecules in various states, mixed with something gel-like that Albus thinks has nothing to do with what he's up to). Shuddering, he puts it back.

If he has to know such things in order to move forward, he will undoubtedly fail - but he can always worry about that _if_ his plan fails.

Sighing, he sets to work clearing one of the tables.

* * *

Albus doesn't know for sure how long it took him to clean up, because he didn't take a watch with him. It was already close to one o'clock in the morning when he left, and the time has dragged on immeasurably while he has made his unofficial rune lab somewhat usable.

He cleared a massive, oblong table of stone to have a work surface worthy of the name. For this purpose he had to sort out useless stuff (ruptured goblets, broken nails, bent keys), and for lack of a better place he piled them up in the middle of the room and covered them with one of the cloth sheets, so that this horrible mess would not distract him from his work.

In fact, while mucking out, he finds a clay tub with a lid that seems to seal it perfectly, despite the brittle-looking material. Pushing the lid aside, he finds row after row of tiny vials inside, neatly lined up. Poisons, magical acids; it's a treasure for a runemaster and extraordinarily hard to come by.

He inhales sharply, wondering how such a potent source of danger made it across the school's threshold. Perhaps this tub is older than even his parents, brought here at a time when those substances had not yet been banned.

He sorts needles, pliers, a pot, and gloves into a shelf above his rune table before pulling up a plain wooden chair, taking his mother's cloth bag, and dumping it on the tabletop. Kaden's wand falls out and - his stomach clenches - three small, shimmering condom packets. He stares at them for a moment, feeling downright taunted, before squinting his eyes, collecting them one by one, and sliding them back into the bag.

"Thank you very much, dad," he grumbles, trying to catch his breath a little. Then he just tosses it behind him onto the shrouded pile of broken objects.

What embossing comes down to is concentration, dexterity, but also inspiration. While the Futhark alphabet would already provide him with some ways to form a sequence of various runic words that would literally blow Kaden's head off, such a solution would not be elegant. If he aspired to kill him, he could do it without a high art like this.

At least in theory.

He places his arms on the table and rests his chin on his hand, pondering what he would now do with this wand. While he could include ancient Egyptian symbols, he is not skilled in their use. If he acts too foolishly, he would blow himself up in the worst case, so he dismisses the thought again.

As he ponders, he rolls the wand around with his finger, watching the gnarled wood bump across the table. Even the handle of such a wand is so thin that the runes would overlap when he etched them in, especially if he wanted them to remain inconspicuous - which means he'd have to keep it short while being careful to combine them wisely.

Suddenly, a flash of inspiration hits him. Hastily, he jumps out of his chair, dashes across the room toward the bookshelf, and grabs parchment and quill. Back at his table, he tentatively draws the runes side by side in the margin of a page densely written in Cyrillic characters.

An X for Gebo, an M, whose upper tines he connects to the opposite legs, for Mannaz, and finally an H, whose middle stroke he draws diagonally downward, for Hagalaz.

Gift. Man. Destruction.

While still staring at the runes, he knows it will work. Again he draws them, this time drawing the X of the rune Gebo in the center of Mannaz to replace the crude connecting points, and using the outside of his construction as the beginning of Hagalaz, so that they all stand together.

With a smile on his lips, he slips on a pair of thick dragonskin gloves, selects the needle with the thinnest tip, and heats it with his own wand until it glows white. Now it's a matter of his concentration; if he hesitates while he's working or gets distracted, the rune needle will destroy the wand, possibly even start a fire, so he glances to the side once more, looks at the combination he's created, and takes a deep breath.

While this is not Albus' first enchantment, he has never worked with heat before. So far, he's merely carved characters into malleable material, and after a short time, sweat is dripping from his pores. The hot smoke that surrounds him all at once seems to pour directly from Kaden's wand, as if it would conjure up a hellfire at any moment to prevent Albus from manipulating it.

Millimeters at a time, he stabs the runes into the hilt with the glowing needle tip, just below an artless bump. At some point, his neck begins to ache, but he can't relax his muscles without breaking eye contact with his handiwork; if he moved or let go of the wand, he could start right over.

Finally, he hears the redeeming crackle - his inscription fully connects with the object, filling it with its power. " _Gebo - Mannaz - Hagalaz_ ," he murmurs before making the final stitch with the tip of the needle, completing his work.

Dizziness seizes him, a hissing muffles every sound, and he realizes that he has overreached himself, that he has put too much of his magic power into this work.

Paying no further attention to the wand, he tosses the glowing needle into the stone basin and slips off his gloves. He slides off his chair, props himself up on his hands, and breathes slowly in and out through his mouth, but the expected nausea overtakes him like a mighty wave, causing threads of saliva to drip from his lips before he throws up where he kneels.

Weakened, he crawls to the sofa, manages to heave his upper body onto the seat cushion, but before he can pull himself up, he loses consciousness.


	15. Alienation

Where he had been before, Albus does not know. It seems to him as if he had been born directly into this moment, without a history, in complete thoughtlessness. Still, he knows that he is in his school, and that something terrible is about to happen.

"Potter!" yells Kaden, and Albus turns to him. Though they face each other in a shadowed hallway deep in the heart of the castle, he hears the soft sound of gentle waves, and next to Kaden's obvious anger, the peaceful atmosphere seems almost grotesque. "You took away my leverage, so I'm taking away your dignity! Or are you going to run straight to your mommy?"

Kaden draws his wand, stands in an attack stance in front of Albus, and somehow, between the anger and the absurd situation, musters the strength to put on his fake, lazy smile.

He realizes that their quarrel will end here and now, and that only one of them can survive. Kaden won't give up, and no one will interfere, because except for the static, it's dead silent, as if the part of the world he can see is merely a small bubble in a vast nothingness. But Albus is not afraid; he can see it clearly. Bright blue, as if they were made of magical fire, they dance around Kaden's grimace. Unlike Albus, he doesn't seem to notice them, though they glow like little lights in the darkness of the corridor.

Gebo, Mannaz, and Hagalaz swirl around him, so slowly at first that Albus involuntarily wonders if he's imagining them; what else could explain his opponent being obviously unable to see them? But then he hears their crackling behind the increasingly loud sound of the sea.

"You know what? Death is still too good for you, Potter! Don't worry, I'll make it so that not even your poor mother would recognize you anymore!" screeches Kaden all at once. His voice sounds shrill and hysterical, and as he laughs, he looks like an incarnate example of a maniacal mass murderer from a second-rate TV crime drama.

Still laughing, he extends his wand. "Don't even try to escape, you wouldn't stand a chance!" he bellows over the roar of crashing waves, but there are no waves, and when Albus turns around he realizes it; everything is being sucked into a gigantic hole in the sky, floor, ceiling, even people. Beyond their passage, nothing seems to exist, as if the entire world has already disappeared into the black hole.

In its place has spread a vast expanse of shadows that seem to ripple in the airless space. Their blackness stands out indistinctly against the deep blue background, illuminated only now and then by a glistening flash. This is how Albus imagined the afterlife, like a stormy hell in all-encompassing emptiness, but strangely enough, the thought of being so close to death does not instill fear in him. He knows that in a few seconds everything will be as it was before. The hole will spit out the world again.

In the meantime, the runes have begun to circle around the wand. Now Kaden should be able to see them, but he merely fixes Albus with a mischievous glint in his black eyes. "You can kill with any spell! _EXPULSO_!"

As he speaks the incantation, the runes burn through the black lacquer of the wand. Nothing else happens at first; the spell crackles at the tip and goes out when it should have been shooting, like a beam of energy, toward Albus. "Even my wand pities your pathetic existence," Kaden sneers, then shakes it angrily and screeches again, " _EXPULSO_!"

Now Albus can see the orange beam, but it is not coming from the tip of the wand, but from the hilt. It arches as the magical power bursts out of it, bursting it open as if it were giving birth to the spell.

The beam slides into Kaden's chest without resistance.

It doesn't look like he realizes what has happened. Instead of freezing in sheer horror, he shakes the broken wand handle from his hand before examining the palm as if he feared he had caught a splinter. With a hollow sound, the wand falls to the floor and skitters toward Albus. The urge to bend down for it distracts him from his opponent for a short time, and no sooner has he averted his gaze than he hears a loud swishing sound.

Alarmed, he looks up to see Kaden's once-defined body expanding. He is gaining girth so rapidly that within seconds he is bursting the seams of his cloak. Albus swallows, but his throat tightens at the sight of the boy. For a moment, it reminds him of the story of the puffed-up aunt his father told him for amusement. If only that were it!

The gaze in Kaden's eyes fades to nothing, as if he were already dead, his skin tears, and then.... He explodes in a shower of blood, bone, guts and slimy flesh.

Albus stares wide-eyed at the oozy bits trickling down along the wall. It occurs to him that Expulso is a curse that makes objects explode. It is not meant to be directed at anything living. Shuddering, he bends down for the wand.

The handle has cracked, revealing the hollow space inside the wand. A narrow gap between a layer of thick, dark wood that holds one or more other ingredients. From it hangs out something that looks like a vine. But there is something else.

It is a small, gnarled bump that is almost cracked. His fingertips feel it, and when he turns it over, he recognizes the fine runic imprints he has put on it.

The moment comprehension sets in, he awakens from his vivid dream.

* * *

The Room of Requirement has not changed since he passed out, his upper body on the couch. The green flames of the torches are still the lab's only source of light, and he has no watch with him, so he can't even tell what time it is or how long he's been kneeling on the stone floor.

At least he doesn't feel sick anymore but the pain in his knees is tearing at his self-control, and he frowns. Then he turns around, slowly, carefully, to let himself fall on his butt and lean his back against the sofa. Meanwhile, a slight dizziness flares up, with it a silvery whisper in his ears, but apart from that he feels better than he would have thought possible after such a vile dream.

He once read that dreams are often a message from the subconscious. A clear warning, in his case probably of the effect of the enchantment he made. Unless he made a mistake in his work, any spell that targeted a person would be reflected back at the caster, no matter what the effect.

Well, should Kaden actually want to blow someone up, Albus thinks, surely it's righteous if he blows himself up. No need to be afraid of that. If he doesn't point the wand at others; if he doesn't attack anyone, he wouldn't even notice the manipulation, after all. It is nothing but a protection against cowardly magical attacks.

His eyes closed, he leans the back of his head against the seat cushion and thinks about how Kaden would try to turn someone into a skunk or rip open the seat of a classmate's pants at dinner, and his wand would betray him, doing to him exactly what he wanted to do to them.

He only gradually becomes aware of the potential of his idea. It is not in his hands what Kaden would do with his wand and the enchantment, therefore it is also only indirectly his responsibility. After all, his work would hardly have been feasible if his adversary had not attacked him in the first place.

Whatever will happen, Kaden has brought it on himself, and it will be hard to find anyone who would seriously punish Albus for resorting to such means in order to protect himself. Not according to James, whose insidiousness equals that of Kaden, and who would also have left him little choice (had he not kindly demolished himself).

The corners of Albus' mouth curl into a dark smile. If Kaden would indeed squeal, he would first have to prove that it was he who enchanted the wand - and reveal his own part in it. It would ruin his reputation, sully his clean slate, and nothing could put him off more than being the one bathing in the ridicule of his classmates, so he'll shut up.

As the feeling returns to his legs, he notices a foul odor that once again fuels his dizziness. Sweat seeps from his pores as he realizes that the Room of Requirement doesn't seem particularly fond of helping him. He threw up before his strength left him, but Albus has assumed that the room would take care of it itself.

Tense, he stands up, walks towards his worktable, and picks up Kaden's wand to test it. He breathes through his mouth as he takes a second to examine his work. The tiny lines of runes he has painstakingly poked through the magical coating glow under his touch, signifying that the power is active and unbroken.

Nervously, he waves the wand around in the air and then points it at the puddle of his vomit before quickly averting his gaze so he doesn't immediately puke again. " _Scourgify_ ," Albus hisses out between clenched teeth.

In fact, it takes a few moments for the spell to make his mess disappear, but that may merely be because Albus is not the master of this wand. Still, it works, which means he didn't destroy it.

Ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach, he grinningly takes his own wand from the table and points it at Kaden's. If Albus doesn't look closely and block out the blue glow, the imprint could be a simple scratch in the paint. He doubts anyone would think to examine this tool for such an enchantment, but he doesn't want to take the chance. " _Reparo_." Black varnish flows over the indentations, sealing the wood.

Kaden won't see it coming.

* * *

As he leaves the Room of Requirement, Albus realizes that he has spent the entire night in his rune lab. With trembling hands, he slides the Marauder's Map into his waistband, then leans his forehead against one of the seventh-floor windows and squints into the pale light of morning. Although gray clouds coat the sky like steel wool, his eyes are slow to adjust to the unfamiliar brightness.

In fact, he feels as if he has crawled out of a bunker in which he has spent not just one night, but half his life, and the world suddenly seems incomprehensibly alien. Snorting, he pushes open the window and takes a deep breath. Sharp, cold wind blows a scent of rain and forest up to him, and contrary to his hope that the fresh air would dispel his unease, it seems only to intensify.

Perhaps, he muses, the black hole in his dream actually existed. It sucked everything into itself and then spewed it out again, unchanged at first glance - unless you look very closely. Like a masterful copy of a painting. Even if every brushstroke was accurately applied to the canvas, the soul of the painting is missing.

What a silly thought. The foothills of the forbidden forest, the buzz of the atmosphere, even the students practicing passes on the Quidditch pitch, nothing about it is strange in any way, nothing has changed.

He turns away from this typical Sunday morning panorama and makes his way to the common room. When he tells Scorpius what he did with Kaden's wand, when he hugs him, but at the very latest when he kisses him, Albus will be home, no matter if they have been swallowed up by random black holes.

In fact, he already feels better when he arrives at the dungeons and tells the stone wall the house password ('poison rain'). While the wall is still crunching aside, he notices the crowd of people in the common room. They are standing so close together that he can't see anything through their wall of bodies. It seems as if all the Slytherins have gathered in a circle to stare at the floor in their midst, wild excitement in their expressions, some whispering, others mocking.

Albus briefly lets his eyes wander over them, but Scorpius is not among them, and that has exhausted his interest in this strange event. He pushes past them to get to the other end of the room, accompanied by a stifled gasp and a rumble that clearly sounds like a hearty beating.

Wonderful. Let them bash each other's heads in, Albus thinks, diving into the darkness of the corridor and taking a step before a familiar voice makes him pause.

"Now, once again, very slowly, so that even a small-brained wanker like you understands: If you don't tell me right now where he is and what you did to him, you'll rue the day you underestimated me, Fisher!"

He freezes as the feeling of insurmountable strangeness he had successfully quelled moments before rolls over him, amplified a thousandfold, like a mighty tidal wave. It has clearly been Scorpius' angry snarl, but the words do not belong to him.

"Get your sissy hands off me!" yells Kaden Fisher in a panic. "Nothing at all I did to him, you insane bitch! Avery, help me already!"

Albus doesn't feel ready for all of this, he doesn't want to get into any fights (he's seen enough of that for a lifetime after last night), and he certainly doesn't want to be the center of attention. Still, his feet carry him toward the crowd even before he can consciously decide to do so.

The atmosphere seems to hum with tension, and when a girl at the outer edge of the throng whispers, "He's going to kill him, isn't he?" an over-excited laugh bubbles up in his chest.

"My _sissy_ hands won't let go of you until you stop talking shit! I see your swollen knuckles, no point in lying!"

The girl turns to her friend, catching sight of Albus who has almost reached her. Something about his expression must seem terrifying, because she flinches and hastily backs away, stepping on the foot of a boy next to her.

This brings movement into the crowd. It always follows the same sequence; someone looks around because of the renewed hustle and bustle, notices him, makes room, and so a path opens up for him. The buzzing gradually dies away, the whispers of the onlookers peter out, making the strained groans in their midst seem all the louder.

Unable to form a clear thought, Albus follows the trail among the bodies, and as the last one steps aside, he sees Scorpius, disheveled and red, but apparently unharmed. He sits wide-legged on Kaden's back, holding the latter's twisted arms so tightly that his knuckles stand out white, and leans forward to avoid Kaden's untargeted kicks.

Albus doesn't understand. How on earth did Scorpius manage to overpower him? Even now that he has the upper hand, he seems downright lanky compared to his opponent, who is at least a year older and plays Quidditch to boot.

Kaden raises his head. "I punched Potter in the face, but that was long before curfew!" he shouts, then rears back once more. To no avail, because he does lift Scorpius off the ground with him, but Scorpius just drops full force and pushes him back down before Kaden can turn around.

A wicked grin settles on Scorpius' face. "Oh, of course. Before curfew. And where is he then, you dickhead?"

He's clearly enjoying this too much.

"Have you ever checked your ass?" growls Kaden. He hisses in pain as Scorpius acknowledges his retort with a sudden jerk of his arms. "If anyone's a dickhead here, it's probably you. The way you torture me in front of witnesses, that's pretty -"

"Yeah, yeah, pretty stupid of me. Luckily, your witnesses also heard you admit to hitting Albus."

That's not him. That's not his Scorpius.

Several minutes after Kaden has asked Avery for help, he emerges from the cover of the crowd. He looks indecisive, clenching his hands in the hem of his shirt. "Um, Scorpius?" he murmurs, rather than physically joining the struggle. "He's here. Albus is here." He almost seems relieved as he exhales and slumps his shoulders, and when he even throws Albus a tentative smile, he wonders if he isn't still dreaming in the Room of Requirement.

That would be a good explanation for the general insubstantiality of this morning.

Like a spell being broken, all dominance flows from Scorpius' posture. He jerks his chin up and blinks at Albus as if he were a stern teacher who has caught him doing something forbidden. "Albus! I-I thought you were ..." he stammers.

He doesn't finish his sentence, but he doesn't need to. The corners of his mouth twitch, his lips begin to quiver as if he is about to burst into tears. At the edge of his vision, Albus notices Kaden beginning to squirm again, while Scorpius, overcome by his emotions, is about to lose his grip.

If Kaden manages to throw him off, he will no doubt pounce on him, witnesses or not. Although Scorpius can apparently fight better than Albus ever gave him credit for, the undisguised fury with which his opponent fights back shrinks his chances considerably.

Hastily, Albus stumbles forward and crouches in front of Kaden. The stares of those present burn through the heated skin of his neck as he presses the flat of his hand to the boy's cheek to keep him on the ground a little longer. Slowly, choosing his words carefully, he murmurs, "I have something that belongs to you. If you are good, you will get it back, if not, I will destroy it."

Kaden's resistance indeed subsides as he tries to look up past Albus' arm. The blackmailed surrender fills him with new confidence. As his excitement subsides, he leans down lower. "If anything happens to Scorpius - absolutely anything, and if it's an accident - I'll tell my mother that I don't want to withdraw the charges against you after all." Kaden's eyes widen. "You once gleefully enumerated for me how the press will tear my famous father apart in a scandal you've tried to create. Now you can figure out for yourself what will happen if he hears me out, with my mom as a witness. Trust me, my dad will be quick, and you can't hide the marks left by your beating so well that he can't find them."

"It's okay," Kaden growls. "I'll leave your little bitch alone." The hatred dripping from his voice makes Albus' heart race, and when he finally removes his hand from Kaden's face, he fixes him with a look that clearly says, 'Your bitch, yeah, but I'll never get off _your_ back.'

Forcing a smile onto his face, Albus straightens up to look down at Kaden. "Tomorrow morning. If you can behave yourself by then." He wipes his damp hand on his shirt before offering it to Scorpius.

As he allows Albus to help him up, Scorpius keeps his gaze lowered. Now that he's apparently back to his old self, Albus finds it distinctly difficult not to throw his arms around his neck, but of course they're still the center of attention, so he merely intertwines their fingers together.

After one last look at Kaden, who is trying to stand up but keeps slumping, and Avery, who merely nods at him without much concern for his brother, he pushes past the other students.

* * *

He doesn't realize how stuffy the air in the common room has been until he leaves it behind. The hallway lies deserted before them, and it's as good here as anywhere else, so he merely pulls Scorpius a few steps deeper inside. For a moment he looks at his boyfriend's handsome face. He is as he always is, and nothing about him is alien to Albus, but how much this fact surprises him (which, in the light of day, had been a foregone conclusion, and was only disguised by his own overexcitement) makes it clear to him once again that he has completely spent himself mentally as well as physically.

Involuntarily, he overcomes the distance between himself and Scorpius to hug him tightly. "Aren't you angry?" asks Scorpius tentatively, but returns the hug anyway. When Albus doesn't answer, he begins to babble. "I thought you were mad at me. Because you looked at me like I was .... I don't know, something gross from the forest or whatever. At the same time, I was pretty mad at you for just disappearing. And then I was scared for you after Fisher looked like he had just come out of a fight."

"What he said is true." Suddenly a gray weariness seeps through him, and he leans on Scorpius more than he should. Closing his eyes, breathing in his scent, he realizes he might as well fall asleep here and now. "He hit me last night. Out of ambush. I didn't see him coming, Scorpius. One moment I was okay, the next I was on the floor with my head aching."

"Oh, by Morgana's crow, you must report him!" murmurs Scorpius. Though the tone of his voice barely makes it through the static to Albus' ears, he hears how insistently he speaks, and he shakes his head unwillingly. "Does that mean you're going to rely on him to behave and -"

"It means," Albus interrupts him, to his surprise loud and clear and full of determination, "that he won't hurt anyone else, and if he does, he'll automatically get it back." His head is heavy as Albus lifts it to whisper in Scorpius' ear. "I've been away that night to put some runes on his wand that will be useful to us. If he gets it back and attacks me - which he probably will - the spell will backfire."

"Something like that is possible? If he does a shock spell now, he'll shock himself?" Albus nods. "So he thinks he's going to make a deal where he has to swear to leave us alone in order to get his wand back," Scorpius mutters. "So the threat to turn him in was a bluff. And if he physically attacks you again, he'll have to expect you to get serious. All that's left for him to do is use the wand, which triggers your trap. Now that's genius."

Tiredly, Albus smiles, though Scorpius probably can't see it. With the very last of his strength, he pulls himself free, trots over to the wall, and slides down to stretch out his legs.

His body already feels weightless when he hears Scorpius' voice from somewhere. "Wouldn't you rather go to bed? Here surely it's -"

"Just let me rest my eyes for a moment," Albus grumbles with a heavy tongue, feeling himself dozing off.


	16. Regret rises slowly

James used to run out in all kinds of wind and weather to practice on his racing broom. First, so he could be selected for the Quidditch team, then later to remain proficient enough to hold his position. He loved chasing through the sky, feeling the wind simultaneously creating a resistance against his body and brushing through his hair. The excitement that coagulated through his veins. He was flying and he was free; a kind of freedom he never felt on the ground.

Sometimes he's had enough thrills, flung the broom off him and tussled with the neighborhood kids. Wilson and Jackson Prescott, twin brothers who got on his nerves mostly because they thought they were better than he was. The way they sat on a plaid blanket at the edge of the woods, in their fine white slacks and starched-collar shirts, James always hated that.

Before he instilled respect in them, they made it a point to comment on every single swish of his broom (" _You're flying way too high. Mom says that's dangerous_ ") or just laugh. (At least until they realize they'll get fewer swats if they keep their mouths shut.)

The Prescotts, they're 'Mama doesn't want us to get our shoes dirty' type boys, and what he's brought down on them through his unrestrained scrappiness, they've made up for in the fact that they've been a year older and always in pairs.

Still, he beat them every time.

Since new rules have been enforced at his parents' house, he doesn't often get to climb his broom into the steel-gray February sky. When he does, he sees the Prescotts standing at the edge of the woods every now and then, without their blankets and dim-witted comments. They stand there, staring at him silently with their bright eyes that seem to glow in the early darkness of the afternoon. The wind rattling the tops of the trees unsettles their lovingly arranged blond side partings, but they themselves never move.

As always, it's that fucked-up fear tingling in the knuckles of his fist, and the urge to smash it into their staring faces spoils the liberating feeling of flying.

Instead of giving in to the urge, James has stayed home more and more often until his broom finally gathers dust.

When he's had enough of his father, the sticky warmth of the living room that's been left unventilated for too long, and the school material he spends far more time with now than he did back at Hogwarts, he sits on the porch. From here, he has a good view over the wide field of untrimmed meadow that stretches to the edge of the forest - and of the twins, who come and gawk every other day until their mommy calls them for dinner.

On a Sunday, Harry has left home early, leaving James alone in the house, mindlessly roaming the empty rooms. The floorboards in the attic above him crack and groan. The wind, which seems stronger here in the valley than anywhere else, rattles the windows and penetrates through cracks, whistling.

Perhaps it has torn a power cable, because the light sometimes flickers as it roars against the walls like a surging wave.

Everything is alright for the time being.

James looks around Lily's room, but it's not particularly interesting. Besides her toys (fairies, elves, and unicorns, mostly horribly girly dolls that she hasn't even touched) and her books, Lily doesn't own much. She doesn't value clutter, as she has often pointed out, especially when she drags another doll home from her grandparents' house and, after the Christmas dinner party, places it on the pyramid she has laid out next to her closet. Her parents respect this and instead give her money, which she puts aside for her long-planned, feverishly yearned-for college education.

Instead of posters, brochures hang on her walls. Curious, James steps closer. 'Do you have what it takes to train security trolls?' he reads and grins.

He can't think of anyone better for the job than his little sister. She would just talk the trolls up until they did what she wanted. So she would stop rambling.

A gust of wind sweeps against the outside walls. There's a creaking somewhere in the house, and James, fed up with this pink toothache paradise, bends down on the spur of the moment to take a look under Lily's bed.

Apparently she has taken her diary with her to Hogwarts. Disappointed, he turns and leaves the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Back in the hallway, it suddenly goes dark. The feeling of desperately having to go to the bathroom because of a stomachache cranks him forward. Slowly, he turns around.

The hallway is open; over a railing he can see directly into the entryway and the living room on the first floor, but now he sees nothing but shadows spreading out, coalescing into a darkness in which not even he as a seeker could make out anything.

Strained, he stares down, completely motionless. If he were to start running now, it might help against the fear that makes his legs shake, but in the end he would merely fall down the stairs, so he claws his fingers into the dust-covered banister and holds his body upright.

The darkness on the first floor is interrupted by a brief beam of light, which immediately goes out again. James, whose heart is pounding furiously, is sure it has come from the direction of the front door (he has seen himself reflected in the windows).

There is someone here who doesn't belong.

Later, James cannot say how long it will take for the lights to come back on. He has held out, not moving, listening for any movement on the first floor, feeling every passing second. Nothing to hear, and as the light washes away the darkness, no one seems to be there.

Before looking, he turns to the other side of the corridor, where his room is next to Albus'. Tiptoeing forward the few steps, he opens his door and slips into the room dimly lit by his desk lamp.

Glad that he had been nervous enough to flick on all the lamps when his father had climbed into the fireplace, he hurries towards his bedside table under the window, grabbing his wand and clenching it in front of his chest before heading back out into the hallway, taking the stairs down and looking around the first floor.

Other than the skeleton of a rotting leaf on the floor next to the front door, he finds nothing, but that's enough to increase the uncomfortable tugging in his stomach.

Leaves from the woods, at the edge of which the Prescotts usually stand, staring motionless at the house.

Determined to toss it into the fireplace and forget about it to pretend nothing is wrong, he bends down for it. Maybe it would be a good time to visit the grandparents, too, runs through his mind. As his fingers graze the withered stem, an abrupt clang makes him jump.

A clang as of a metal door suddenly slamming shut.

The hairs on the back of his neck seem to stand up in tension, thickening the air, and he gasps as he breathes, and in that moment James realizes that he might actually be in danger.

Whether it's the twins taking revenge on him after a long time away, a reporter taking advantage of his father's absence (sometimes they come to besiege the hedges. Nothing brings as much edition as a look at Harry Potter's private life) or a criminal who uses the favor of the hour - it would be downright foolish to stay here.

In the best case, he merely gets involved in a scuffle, for which he then has to justify himself again, although he was only defending himself.

But he's also fed up with the fucking fear that's been his constant companion ever since he can remember. James is a Gryffindor, he's brave and courageous, and now he sees the time has come to prove it to everyone.

Maybe Harry won't be so ashamed of him anymore if he survives this attack and apprehends a criminal.

With his heart pounding wildly, he starts moving; through the entryway into which the staircase juts, then past it on his right to the locked basement door, its metal gleaming in the glow of the light.

Before turning the doorknob, he moistens his dry lips, then pushes it open, pushing past the door as it scrapes ice-cold against his upper arm. Standing on the landing, he peers into the brightly lit basement; a square room full of discarded furniture.

Recognizing the blond backs of the twins' heads, James exhales and slinks down the stairs. Halfway down, however, the door he forgot to close slams shut.

The intruders flinch at the same time and turn to face him in one fluid motion. Their staring eyes promptly catch him, causing him to stagger, and before his feet lose their grip, he gets hold of the banister.

Unfortunately, his wand slips from his hand. In a hurry, he looks after it as it skids across the concrete floor, right under a moth-eaten armchair.

The Prescotts don't seem to care; they stand there staring, as usual.

_Maybe I killed them in the last brawl, and now they'll haunt me until I die myself_ , James thinks, shuddering as his gaze searches their pale faces for a movement.

"How - how did you get in here?" hisses James, his hands clenched tightly around the iron brace of the railing.

No answer, not even a sign that they heard him at all. After a while, however, Wilson, who is slightly taller than Jackson, blinks. After all.

A zombie or a ghost certainly wouldn't do such a thing.

James decides to try again. He puts as much authority and anger into his voice as he can in his battered condition. "What are you doing here?"

Without moving his upper body or tilting his head, Jackson takes a step to the side. He reveals a view of a chest-high freezer.

Gritting his teeth, James takes the last step so he's on solid ground and raises his fists, ready to use them despite his father's threat of punishment. "Did you kill someone and now you're trying to foist a corpse on us?" he growls.

And then, suddenly, a jolt goes through the siblings. Jackson shakes his head. "No," he says. His voice sounds boyish and nowhere near as frightening as his ghostly appearance suggests.

"We don't do that kind of thing," Wilson adds, before tracing the crown of his head with a rigid motion.

By now, James' breathing has returned to normal. He takes a deep drag to calm himself, but he doesn't loosen the tension in his fists - yet. "But breaking into other people's houses, you don't seem to have a problem with that."

"We don't do that kind of thing," Wilson repeats in a deadpan tone, blinking once before lapsing back into a dull stare.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" roars James. "This is our house - my house, and I didn't invite you, so you very well broke in! If you don't get out of here right now, I'm going to beat the crap out of you!"

The twins do not move. James steps forward, straightens his shoulders, raises his arm -

"But the red-haired woman promised us ice cream," Jackson mutters, his stony gaze fixed on his fist.

James lowers his arm again. "Ice cream?"

"We like ice cream. But Mommy says there's sugar in it," Wilson explains slowly, as if he, of all people, thinks James is stupid.

Jackson chuckles, which is the strangest thing James has ever seen: For a brief moment, the corners of his mouth twist, the giggle dripping from his wet drooling lips - and then the grimace falls from his face so suddenly that afterwards you have to wonder if you imagined it.

"Mommy told us that sugar is bad for your teeth and your brain," he whispers to James, leaning forward without turning his head. "Dad said we're stupid anyway, though, and it won't affect us. That's why we want our ice cream."

Suddenly, a strange trepidation grips his chest that feels so foreign and unwelcome that James overcomes his fear, pushes past the twins, and opens the freezer.

Meat, vegetables, fruit, and a veritable wealth of different kinds of ice cream pile up in the compartments. He takes out a family-size carton of waffle ice cream, closes the door and slams it against Jackson's chest with all his might.

"Now get the hell out of here," James grumbles.

"Yes."

After getting what they broke in for, the twins take one last look at James' hands, as if they don't trust the peace, then pass him and climb the stairs one by one. Jackson, clutching the package of ice cream, moves with conspicuous circumspection.

Eyebrows cocked suspiciously, James follows them up into the entryway and watches the siblings leave the house. They leave the front door open, of course. Sighing, James locks it. In a fit of paranoia, he jiggles the handle again to make sure it sits securely in the lock.

He will definitely need to have a talk with his father. If he doesn't want to see James beating up those dumbasses, he's also going to have to make sure they can't get into the house anymore.

The creepy mood brought over the house by the storm and the brief power outage has faded, at the latest when the ridiculous story of the Prescott boys was revealed. Although the fear has also left him, an inner restlessness has taken its place.

He trudges down to the basement once more to pull his wand from under the armchair. After wiping away the dust fluff, he flicks off the light, closes the door, and looks at the clock. Eight o'clock in the evening, and no sign of Harry.

As he climbs the stairs and pushes open Albus' bedroom door, he wonders if he should dare wish his brother a happy birthday, belated. Maybe Albus would be glad to know he hadn't forgotten. Or he would suspect a trap.

In his younger brother's room, there is a sweet, tart smell of grave earth (James dismisses it as a Slytherin thing that he would never understand anyway). Although their parents have gone through great lengths to make the room cheerful, complete with motif wallpaper (fluffy clouds on a light blue background), Albus has somehow managed to give it a sinister undertone.

His books are neatly lined up on the white wooden dresser next to a globe lamp. The titles are written in runes and tell James nothing, but their worn, matte spines look out of place in the children's room. Emblazoned on one of them is a large, dark stain hauntingly reminiscent of blood.

Instead of brochures, as in Lily's room, single runes adorn the walls here, traced several times in deep red, thick strokes. As if Albus had been possessed, he scrawled them directly onto the wallpaper.

The sight of them, lurking in the darkness, barely reached by the beam of light from the hallway, unnerves James. He wants to turn away, go back to his own room and slam the door behind him, but he changes his mind again. Instead, he slams Albus' door, shuffles to the bed, and throws himself onto the dusty sheets.

After all, he brooded much over Albus lately.

Surrounded by moonlit darkness, runes, and the action figures staring down at him from their elevated position on the top of the closet, James lies on his brother's bed, thinking about the blow that bruised his cheekbone, remembering the anxiety he felt for a second.

It has been fundamentally different from the fear he usually feels when Albus is around. It has not been suffocating, nor has it been paralyzing. It has been a very plain dread, brought on by brute force. It took a while before James understood the difference.

Defending a friend against what he had been about to put on him was something James would never have trusted Albus to do. Despite the remembrance of the pain (and the shame over his reaction that eventually led to him having to hold out here), he understands his brother. For the first time.

Maybe he should have tried more often. He remembers the time seven years ago when they were constantly in a feud, and how at night he would worry about what he could say that would end their enmity.

Every time he made a joke, Albus would flinch and stare at him in dismay - or shove him away before running to his room to lie low until dinner. Heck, even if the joke hadn't actually been teasing, wasn't aiming at Albus.

He was probably expecting an attack. James knows that now, but it has hurt the boy he had been back then.

It had been a mistake to give Albus what he expected, but it helped James cope with the constant rejections, and in the end, his efforts were of no use after all. No matter what he tried, they just didn't get along.

Feeling watched by the action figures, James turns restlessly on his side in bed. Involuntarily, he stretches to switch on the globe light, and as warm brightness spills over him, he lets himself sink back onto the pillow.

Perhaps the time is right to try again. As soon as he's allowed back into Hogwarts, he'll see how he can get closer to Albus without antagonizing him even more.

If that means tolerating Scorpius, so be it. James sighs deeply. Still, he'll never forgive that little maggot for ruining his first kiss.

But not yet. It's late, and he's been playing nice long enough today. Now it's time for a nap, and James curls up in Albus' sheets.


	17. Amputation

When Albus sits up in bed the next morning, completely overtired, he barely remembers what happened after the conversation with his mother on Saturday night. No matter how hard he tries, he only manages to fish out fragments from the murky swamp in his head. The successful enchantment of Kaden's wand, for instance, or the striking image of Scorpius sitting on top of him, holding his arms as if he had suddenly become some kind of martial artist, but what lies in between has slipped his mind.

Not even how he got to bed can he say now. Face contorted into a strained grimace, he tries to motivate himself to get to his feet, but that doesn't seem desirable or manageable, despite the fact that he'll be late for class. By now, the dormitory has emptied, and if he doesn't hurry, he'll probably face detention.

While Albus stares gloomily into space, the door opens. Reluctantly, he wrinkles his nose. Hopefully it's Scorpius, because he certainly couldn't stand anyone else.

"Good morning, sunshine." Scorpius drops onto the bed beside him, an extremely satisfied smile on his face. "Kaden is waiting for you in the Great Hall, claiming his reward for his good behavior." He chuckles, but Albus doesn't even manage to lift the corners of his mouth. "Don't tell me you're still tired? You've been asleep for ten hours!"

Because the bright voice cuts painfully through his ears, he winces. "Not so loud," he growls. "Ten or one, it feels the same for me right now. You run all your magic power through a needle for an hour! If you can do that and don't get wasted, you might get to complain."

"I'm not complaining, I'm worried!" Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Scorpius cross his arms in front of his chest. "That's a tiny little difference. But please, when you're back in your -"

"Don't say Albus-zone now, or I'll go right back to sleep!"

"All right." Conciliatorily, Scorpius puts his arm around his shoulders, leans his forehead against Albus', and lets a few moments pass in which Albus breathes in his scent and slowly begins to feel a little more comfortable again. "Maybe that wouldn't be a bad idea, though. I'll tell Professor Slughorn you're feeling ill so you can get some more rest."

Blinking, Albus stares at his knees. He's still wearing the denim pants he must have put on sometime yesterday, and he wonders how he had been able to sleep in them for so long, complete debilitation or not. His thoughts ooze thickly through his mind like a viscous mass, and it takes some time for them to coalesce.

This gray murkiness almost completely paralyzes him, which makes Scorpius' offer seem tempting. To simply lie back down and bury his throbbing head in the pillow, so that he would hopefully be himself again afterwards and be able to muster at least a modicum of concentration for class.

But something still needs to be done, and Albus thinks hard as he loosely wraps one of his boyfriend's long strands around his finger. Finally, he comes to it. "Then you'd have to hand over the wand. Are you sure that would be okay?"

"Why not?" Scorpius snorts. "I'm sure he won't trigger your trap right away. After all, he thinks you'll turn him in if he does."

"And you? Are you going to attack him like you did yesterday?" He must have sounded sharper than intended, because Scorpius takes a quivering breath and backs away from him a bit. Shivering in the sudden cold, Albus wraps his arms around his chest. Struggling for a soft, gentle tone (which is decidedly difficult right now), he adds, "What was wrong with you, anyway? It's not like he didn't deserve it, but the fact that this turns you into a thug is really -" Before he ends up saying something he'll regret, he bites his tongue.

"Albus, I ... I don't know what got into me, really. You weren't there - and I waited here for you for quite a long time ... Then I went into the common room to check on you, and he was standing there, with his bruised knuckles, and suddenly ..." He runs a hand nervously through his hair, "I wasn't in control."

"I didn't mean anything by it. I was just surprised by this ... sight."

"Believe me, so was I. When you stood in front of me and I was myself again, I didn't know what to do." Scorpius lets out an exasperated laugh. "Maybe I'm going crazy or -"

"No, I don't think so," Albus interrupts him vaguely as he stifles a yawn. "I feel like I'm losing control sometimes, and that's exactly how it is."

"I'm not attacking him today, I'm sure of it. You're there and you're safe. To keep it that way," Scorpius says, sliding off the edge of the bed, "you lie down now and rest. Go on."

Albus obeys him, dropping back onto the pillow, and without delay his body responds with a leaden sleepiness. The cool surface of the pillowcase settles on his skin like a protective barrier, calming his pulse. This time he notices how much the pants bother him, but taking them off means at least lifting his butt, and that seems impossible.

"Good, now all you have to do is hand me the wand. We don't want Fisher to get in trouble in class for _losing_ it."

Albus yawns before reaching into his pocket and pulling out the wand. His arm feels heavy as he holds it out to Scorpius.

"Isn't this yours?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. "You really aren't good for anything."

Of course, Scorpius is right, yet Albus groans in annoyance. "Shut up!" Heartily, he throws a wand - the right one, this time - at his chest, where it bounces off and falls to the floor.

"You're being childish," Scorpius retorts gracefully. "I'm just trying to help you."

"Of course you are. That's why you say I'm useless."

"More like a little sappy, isn't it? That you don't sleep restfully is no wonder. I couldn't either if I slept with a pants full of stuff."

Suddenly, he leans over Albus and props himself up with his hands next to his head. The strands of hair he'd tucked behind his ear come loose and fall like golden-blond drizzle down his face, tickling his cheek as Scorpius' breath brushed warmly over his lips. Fatigue has made his skin warm and sensitive, causing the fine hairs on his cheek to stand up, and Albus swallows dryly, suppressing the urge to pounce on Scorpius. The trembling in his chest makes him think he doesn't have enough strength to last to the end.

"Honestly, what else is in there? Wouldn't surprise me at all if you had another wand in your pockets," he mutters, uprooting the excitement before it can germinate. Albus stares at him. A moment later, the familiar blush slowly creeps into Scorpius' cheeks. "Oh, that ... I didn't mean it that way." An embarrassed laugh, then he adds, "I mean, except for _that one_."

"You actually said it. How am I supposed to respect you now?" mumbles Albus, rolling his eyes. "That's the worst joke in the world, it's -"

He pauses as Scorpius pulls a hand away to let it slide along his body. Finally, he fiddles with Albus' belt, undoes the button of his trousers, all this with a provocative grin on his face. "I'm sure there are far worse jokes, my mate," he says slowly, unzipping Albus' trousers. The intense look from stormy gray eyes blurs as fingertips slowly slide into his underpants and feel over his semi-rigid penis. "Like the one about how you're too tired to look at me properly, but you can still get horny."

"Then stop groping me," Albus blubbers, clawing his fingers into the mattress to control himself from grinding against the hand. "I just can't believe how incredibly annoying you are. Don't you want me to rest? How well do you think that's going to work out if you keep going?"

A soft laugh brushes his pinched lips. "Resting doesn't have to mean sleeping. You are lying down, aren't you? Actually, I was going to take your pants off so you could sleep better, but ..." Instead of finishing the sentence, Scorpius kisses him, pulling at his waistband.

"But it's impossible for you to undress me without tugging on me. That would require self-control," Albus snaps hoarsely, but contrary to his words, he jerks his arms up and wraps them around Scorpius' back. With more strength than he would have given himself credit for in his current state, he pulls him close, forcing Scorpius to draw his hand out of his underwear, then wraps his legs around him as well. "If you keep this up, you're going to be late. Then you'll have to go to your seat in front of everyone else, which would be terribly embarrassing, wouldn't it? Especially if you catch detention." He tugs lightly at Scorpius' lip with his teeth.

To his surprise, his boyfriend smiles blushingly and leans over to whisper in his ear. "I'll think of you in detention."

Before the last word has faded, Albus tenses the muscles in his arms, though they quiver with exhaustion, and tosses Scorpius aside, onto a piece of mattress between himself and the wall. Before he can open his mouth to protest, Albus is already on top of him, kissing him in that stormy, half-insane way that leaves him defenseless.

* * *

Worried, Albus wakes up sometime in the afternoon from a dream that causes him physical pain, somewhere in his chest. It is an ordeal of a special kind, a tearing, eye-opening torment. So honest that he would prefer to forget it. But the images are dancing before his eyes as if to taunt him, clear and distinct, as if he had actually experienced the situation. Useless to try and repress it. Pointless to pretend that he was not so depraved that they would not excite him.

It had been a dream that involved all his senses, and they all play into the memory. He still hears Scorpius's whimpering, at first dismissive, but after a while pleading, just not to stop; he tastes the salty drops on the sensitive skin of Scorpius' erection, feels the outline of the glans with his tongue, and it's as if it still remembers it even in reality. His fingertips still seem to know how tight and hot it is inside him.

As if through a kaleidoscope, he sees so many things at once that they blend into one another; Scorpius, placing his hands on his bright red face, biting his lip and clutching his fingers in his hair. Scorpius, looking at him, with an exaggeratedly devoted expression, with fervent adoration (completely undeserved, of course). Scorpius, legs spread, pelvis twitching rhythmically as pain and pleasure mingle in his features.

The dream is like a fist in Albus' stomach.

Born of a dark fantasy (he's stroked that soft butt, that yes, but he's never spread the buttocks apart, never looked at the butt hole, let alone seen his cock slide in), guided by despicable impulses (Scorpius has said more than once that he didn't want this but Albus didn't even pause), layered with a guilt that even now presses on his stomach (he _enjoyed_ breaking Scorpius's will, damn it), the dream images ensure that a numb, suffocating self-loathing floods through his chest.

It takes a while before he can breathe more slowly again. When he reaches out to fumble on the nightstand for the wristwatch he always forgets to put on, his heart is still racing, sending a torrent of pure guilt through his veins, even though it's just a cursed dream. It is four o'clock, which means he has slept another seven hours.

Surprised, he finds that he finally feels reasonably recovered, despite his fear that he has lost much of his power forever. All the more incomprehensible this terrible dream.

He turns onto his stomach, pressing his head into his pillow until his lungs burn, forcing himself to think of the provocatively grinning Scorpius from the morning, but he passes in his imagination like oil in a downpour. Instead, the boy from his dream pushes to the fore; a boy who looks at him like a - yes, like a fucking god, cruel and wonderful at the same time, ignoring his boundaries and giving him pleasure precisely because of it.

What a ridiculous thought; how are you supposed to get pleasure from a cruel asshole inflicting pain on you?

Propping himself up on his elbows, he takes a deep, whistling breath. There's no way he ought to be this agitated when Scorpius returns from afternoon class, because he'd ask questions Albus wouldn't have the answers to (telling the truth would be simply unthinkable), and a hot, germicidal shower is, besides Scorpius' shoulder, the only thing that could calm him down in such a mood.

Unless he has detention, Scorpius will be here in less than twenty minutes, so he will have no choice: He'll have to make do with the Slytherin communal showers. A horrible place filled with cold puddles of undefinable origin and dingy tiles.

Since this idea is nowhere near as bad as telling Scorpius everything, he hastily straightens up. The blanket slips off his chest, the cold air brushing his bare skin, and Albus slips out of bed, staggering in his movement. His gaze flows from his chest down to his belly. Despite the cold, sweat breaks out on him.

 _It doesn't mean anything._  
 _But then why am I naked?_  
 _Scorpius stripped me so I could sleep it off. He just -_  
 _No, he just_ meant _to. I took off my jeans after I let him -_  
 _But then where's my damn underwear?_

The jeans are at his feet. He picks them up, shakes them out, but nothing falls out. Nor is it in his bedclothes, under the mattress, next to his closet; no sign of it. Horrified, he drops to his knees, groping under his bed for dust and dirt and nothing.

Clearly, he is losing his mind.

In his nightmare, he remembers, he eagerly tugged at it, tearing it apart, and for a split second he thinks that maybe it wasn't a dream at all. In that case he would end his life without hesitation, but even then he would have had to find it; shreds in his sheet, a rubber band, something.

He wipes the sweat from his brow and looks at his watch. He has fifteen minutes left to flush the imprint of his infamy from his mind and the panic from his veins, to let them shrivel in hot water, and he slips hurriedly into his (remaining) clothes.

Then he runs out of the dormitory as if he could escape from it all.

* * *

As is sometimes the case with fears, Albus' turns out to be completely exaggerated.

The anteroom is still damp from the morning rush, but it is clean. The tiles are as shiny as he could wish for. The fact that the other Slytherins are still stuck in their last class, leaving the shower to his discretion, only makes it better. A slightly warped door, painted a nondescript brown, leads into a large room, one shower next to the other, with no partitions or other privacy protection - under normal circumstances he wouldn't stand in there naked (even if he was alone), but today he has to make an exception.

He quickly disrobes, the erratic movements of his hands punctuated by the incessant dripping that reaches his ears muffled. In fact, he is so nervous that the rustling of the fabric scrapes his nerves and he exhales in relief as he stands exposed in front of the bench. He pauses for a second, enough time to suppress the surge of a shudder, then turns away and stumbles through the door into the shower room.

Normally the hot water would wash away his apprehension, but even that isn't enough today. He scrubs himself with his hands until his skin glows red. Nevertheless, the nightmare still clings to Albus, as if it were indeed a permanent imprint on his soul and in his thoughts. With relentless ferocity, it drills deeper into him, so he scrubs harder, gritting his teeth as his skin emits pulses of pain.

Eventually, his arms grow tired, his muscles burn like his skin, and he realizes that his efforts are futile. Shattered, he slumps against the wall behind him, while the hot water continues to beat down blithely on him. The shadowy images he had wanted to get rid of surge up in his mind, thick as the fog rolling in London during the fall. He doesn't want them, but they force themselves into him.

And then, all of a sudden, hands wrap around his cheeks. The kind with long, cool fingers, hands that make him lift his head and look into Scorpius' worried face. "What's the matter with you? I've just called you ten times, but you're just standing there, looking utterly devastated." He pauses, and gradually reality dawns on Albus. The grip with which the horror holds him loosens as he realizes that Scorpius is indeed here, getting rained on by ricocheted drops.

The relief alone does not last long. The abrupt appearance of his friend presents Albus with a major problem, for he still does not know how to face him at all, how to speak to him. What he saw himself doing in his dream may not have been anything worrisome on the surface. Certainly it wouldn't even particularly worry him if it weren't for that dark something that seems to have been living in his chest ever since he could think. The fear that it could devour him at some point and control his actions makes him avert his gaze.

With effort, he wrings a shaky smile from himself as he watches whitecaps on the water wash down the drain. "I'm really beat. Didn't hear you come in at all."

"Don't you want to ... I know you did something not quite allowed, but wouldn't it be better if you went to the Hospital Wing and had a proper checkup? I really don't like you like this."

"And then what? If I do that, I might as well make a confession!" Impatiently, Albus shakes his head to break the contact between them, for all at once it is too much for him, more than he can bear. "All the time you come and nag me about my condition. As if getting on my nerves every time will make it better. Calm down, Scorpius."

"Are you serious? I wasn't criticizing you, but I'm starting to think you could really use it!" Blotchy red slowly creeps into Scorpius' face, and he doesn't move an inch away from Albus, even though his robes are now shimmering damp and sticking to his body. Instead, anger seems to petrify him.

Albus wants to press his hand over his mouth and leave the room before he can do any more damage, but he keeps standing as the water begins to burn uncomfortably on his skin. It's fine if Scorpius is angry with him, he tells himself. If he doesn't let him get any closer, Albus can't hurt him, so he curls the corners of his mouth. "Oh, what a great idea!" he sneers. "Do you think if you criticize me, I'll become what you want me to be? Ask my father how much success he's had with that."

"But what else am I supposed to do? Just ignore how weird you're acting?"

"What would happen at worst if you left me alone? That I might get the idea that you like me for who I am and not because I happen to be the first guy who wanted to talk to you?"

The fine leather shoes move out of his field of vision, but he wouldn't have needed this visual underscore of the distance Albus created with that single freak-out. It's as palpable as the venom in his words, shards with sharp cutting edges that he has to swallow to bleed to death on them.

It's true; the only efficient protection from the darkness inside him is the end.

* * *

On Monday night, Albus still thought Scorpius would come back and demand a talk, thinking him a boy who clings to the things that are part of his life, even if it's something that brings pain into it. He has settled on his bed and waited, figuring out what he's going to say while the fresh fragments of his heart have chafed his chest.

 _I'm sorry, Scorpius_. That's how he would have started, and even if it was the truth (sorry for all that, for both their sakes), it would have been a very weak statement. He himself would have felt mocked, so he vowed to go right on. _I promised you I'd help you with this, and just like you, I'd do everything I could not to mess this up between us. But I can't keep that promise._

Of course he would have asked why, and Albus would have had nothing to say. Nothing that would have been sufficient as an explanation, just that he's no good for Scorpius and will hurt him eventually anyway, so he'd better pull the sting out of his flesh quickly before it gets in too deep. That would have to be enough for him somehow. And then, once he ends their relationship, they'll both be better off eventually.

But Scorpius didn't come, and at some point Albus fell asleep on his tear-stained pillow.

When he finds his secondary blanket and poison-green Weasley sweater folded neatly on his bed after class the next day, Albus has realized that it's just as easy to end a relationship nonverbally without leaving even a trace of doubt.


	18. Chapter 18

In the days that follow their sudden separation, his sharp shards of words slide further and further down Albus' throat until they finally land in his stomach. Then his flesh curls around them every time his mind wanders in Scorpius' direction, and a mind-numbing pain drives through him.

He sits on his bed most of the time, chin propped on his knees, staring at the gap in the curtain behind which lies an entire world that has now lost its allure. Every now and then a barely recognizable shadow flits by, classmates on their way to their closet, their bed, or the bathroom.

Though he knows better, the silhouettes drive his heart in his chest, a withered muscle in a rusty cage of ribs, suddenly in frenzied motion. Again and again they stir a small, dumb longing swirl in his skull, so improbable that he not even dares name it to himself. He knows it has to do with Scorpius, with the scent of his warm skin and the tingle it left on his tongue.

But the shadows don't linger, and he tells himself he doesn't care. Without Scorpius he is a ghostly nothing in a sphere that no one can break through, and Scorpius is just a small, fragile paragraph in his life story. At least he should be no more than that, and soon it will surely no longer hurt, no longer feel as if he had amputated a part of his own body. Surely at some point he'll stop biting his fingers until he tastes blood so he won't reach out and sniff that damn sweater in his closet like a pitiful mutt.

Eventually it'll be okay, and until then there's nothing he can do but try to go back to being the boy he was before Scorpius. Someone serving his time, with the only difference being that he's no longer just waiting to grow up, but he's also waiting to stop conjuring up the image of a boy at every turn who's too kind, loving, and pretty to suit him anyway.

He sits and waits for whatever would happen first - part of him hopes it won't last until he's seventeen because by then he'll barely be able to bear the pain.

Only once does he move outside his safe patterns. On Wednesday after class, Albus sneaks up to the seventh floor, undetected with the help of the Marauder's map, and enters his rune lab. He is in a strange mood; his insides lie completely fallow, and even when he notices the needles and gloves on his worktable, nothing stirs within him.

He would have expected at least a faint flaring of his passion, but in the restless firelight he sees nothing than plain objects. They don't seem to concern him.

His hands let the map tremble one last time as he contemplates the point of Scorpius in the Entrance Hall, moving alone toward the Great Hall. Then he taps his wand against the yellowed parchment. "Mischief managed." Without another glance, he places it on the center of the table.

It's better this way. What was he supposed to do with the map? Giving in to his impulse to watch Scorpius permanently would be fatal for his sanity. Albus wrinkles his nose at the thought. Well, if there's anything left of it at all.

Regardless, he won't need it again until he can muster the concentration for his work. In the meantime, it would be nothing but a dead weight in his pocket.

Turning away, he steps toward the shelf on which the clay pot rests next to a stack of fireproof gloves. Lifting the lid, it seems for a moment his heart would stop for he sees the binding ring at once, and the sight of it floods his veins with thick, dark grief.

The ring had been meant for Scorpius, as a direct response to his request that he do everything he could, like him, to avoid ending up as miserable as their parents. He stole it to restore the magic that had once lain within it and offer it to Scorpius like a damned engagement ring.

_How lucky I was to not have done that_ , Albus thinks bitterly, before taking it out of the pot and holding it up to the glow of the fire basket. Apart from the rune engraving, it is most unimpressive, but to Albus it looks as if pure mockery had been worked into gold and poured into a mold.

Carefully, he reseals the pot before taking the small bag with condoms (he doesn't even flinch as he thinks about how it got here). He places it next to the map, embeds the ring on it, and lets his gaze wander through his lab.

A grave for his dreams.

Abruptly, he turns away and leaves the Room of Requirement, to finally hide behind his curtains.

Sometimes, when the other boys in the dormitory have quieted down, he cries into his pillow until he too falls into a fitful sleep, only to wake up first in the morning to a rumpled bed. Then he goes to take a shower without fear that someone might see him - such feelings no longer fit into his heart which is bursting with sorrow and longing. He even eats his breakfast regularly, also as one of the first students. The Great Hall is virtually deserted at this early hour except for a few nerds who can hardly wait to crowd outside the classroom door.

He joins them, and just as before he has become a walking billboard for public scandal due to constant embarrassment at the hands of his brother and father, as well as his relationship with Scorpius, he is ignored. Undisturbed, he attends classes, only to retreat behind the protection of his curtains and wait.

His public life passes by in a fog of disinterest and infinite banality - everything he does is automatic. When tears flood his eyes, for instance because Scorpius passes him on the stairs without even looking at him, he escapes to the toilet and lets them run down his cheeks unhindered until they dry up on their own and his chest feels empty and shriveled.

On the fifth day of their separation, a Friday, Albus realizes to his chagrin that the unexciting ordinariness of the school day has been an unexpected distraction as he faces a void; two days ahead in which he will be hopelessly at the mercy of his crushing feelings, free of anything to do. A thought he has repressed until now.

During the week, which he has basically spent in stuffy classrooms and behind his even stuffier curtains in bed, the world has shed its dank, gloomy robe. The weekend is upon them, the sun is shining, and a steady stream of students rushes out onto the castle grounds to pour into the warmth of spring.

Albus, pushing past their bodies, strives in the opposite direction. Several times he is jostled but right now nothing could interest him less. He just wants to get away and out of sight and kill time in the library doing the damn homework until nothing else flutters around in his frighteningly empty head but the thought of Scorpius and he can drop all work anyway.

After the initial rush at the end of the last period of school, the corridors empty quickly, and Albus, for the first time that day, feels the desire to turn around on the spot and throw himself into bed crying. As if the grimaces of other people had undone it, he doesn't sense the knot of grief again until he is alone. Control seems difficult for him, slipping away just a blink later, and the world is already blurring as his chest tightens.

He's standing in the middle of a hallway just one floor away from the library, the walk back to the common room is even longer, and really it doesn't matter anyway, so he slides down to the floor next to a knight's armor on the wall. His trembling hands pressed in front of his face, he grits his teeth to suppress the sobs that shake him.

To make moments like this almost unbearable, those fragments of thoughts he can normally suppress rise up from the storm in his chest to bombard him while his shields are down. ( _It's a horrible mistake - How can something that is supposed to be right hurt this much? Why does it hurt so badly in the first place? I'm used to being alone, I'm strong without others, why does this cursed - It should be a relief not to have to pay attention to anyone anymore, Scorpius just slowed me down_ -)

The words spin in his head, looping through his cerebral convolutions like worms feasting on his suffering, and they keep returning to Scorpius. They mock him, taunt him, scream at him, but instead of relieving him, they tear at Albus' temper.

Actually, he should be angry at Scorpius anyway; Albus bitched at him, so what? That's no reason to throw the things he borrowed from him demonstratively onto the bed without further discussion!

(He didn't throw them, Albus corrects himself involuntarily. No, he carefully folded them, as if he seriously believed that Albus would give a damn if he threw them in the corner!)

Because the tears dry up in a surge of anger, he gets back to his feet and stomps on the stone floor in time with the words in his head so hard that the soles of his feet hurt. As he does so, he is scrupulously careful to hit the fugue each time, which Scorpius no doubt skips even now. In fact, it lets him feel a little better, and he makes it to the landing in front of the library without further incident.

Fugue by fugue, he approaches, but halfway to the large double doors, the pleasant weight of his anger is flushed from his veins, and before he can even look up he realizes that something is wrong.

His trampling has made him deaf to his surroundings, otherwise he might have noticed Scorpius and Mr. Malfoy before he drew attention to himself in such an undignified manner. If only he had looked ahead instead of watching where he was stepping with exaggerated care he would have seen them already, standing in front of the library, Scorpius' flushed face pressed against his father's shoulder, both of them tall, blond, and not exactly inconspicuous.

Mr. Malfoy's mien expresses nothing but sympathy, even as his gaze slides over Albus' crumpled appearance, and after a few seconds he taps Scorpius on the shoulder before taking a step aside and loosening the embrace.

All at once, a wave of nausea sweeps away any sparks of wholesome anger, and Albus feels as if his legs will give way, not directly, but at the most inopportune moment.

Still Scorpius has not looked at him or even indicated that he is alive and breathing. He just stands there, as if he had been spontaneously petrified before his visit to the library.

Irritably, Albus takes a step back, but at that moment Scorpius turns his head and looks him straight in the face, and no matter how angry he had been before, now Albus can't leave him standing. The pain in Scorpius' gaze makes his own surge again, mixed with the damned nausea, and he hopes against all reason that Mr Malfoy hasn't encouraged his son to speak to him now of all times.

Their eye contact lasts a few seconds during which what's left of Albus's heart seems to dissolve bumpily inside his chest. He can almost feel it hissing and smoking until there is nothing left but a burnt-out hole amidst dying nerves and shriveling blood vessels. Then Scorpius looks to the ground, his eyes unnaturally wide, his lower lip quivering.

He begins to speak haltingly. His raspy voice gives the impression he hasn't used it in days. "You once made me promise that I would talk to you if anything was wrong. And ... Also, we agreed to do everything we could to make things work between us. I didn't do that, and that was wrong." Though he's visibly trying not to blink, the first tears drip down his cheeks to the floor. "What you said hurt me - but it's not like it's particularly unusual."

Albus opens his mouth to interrupt him, to tell him he's terribly sorry for the way he acted, but he just manages to stop himself. The apology he feels welling up in his chest would make a subsequent breakup on his part nearly impossible, so he clutches his fingernails into the heels of his hands and sinks his front teeth into his lip, which simultaneously keeps him from wailing out again.

"Besides, that wasn't the worst of it ... That wasn't the reason I needed time to myself, Albus. It's that you've changed - maybe you noticed it yourself - beyond recognition. That you needed to recover, okay, I get that, but the way you reacted to me overall made me feel like I was constantly giving you a hard time, and that just can't -"

"But it wasn't you," Albus interrupts him involuntarily. Now would be the time to say what he had been thinking about on Monday night, when he was waiting for this very debate, but the phrases have long since been buried under all the others that have been running through his head over the past few days, and he falters, unsure of what he can reveal without skirting so close to the truth that he has to admit it.

To his surprise, Scorpius looks up for a split second before averting his gaze again, replying, "I know it's not me." Without even a hint of his usual uncertainty, he continues to speak. Though a deep sob shakes his words now and then, he gets them across clearly - as if he had practiced. "The fact that you're grumpy and sometimes even downright mean is, as I said, nothing new to me. I don't usually take it to heart at all, but this had long since taken on a different quality, and the timing struck me as odd. Father said there's always a reason for such deep changes, and I had an idea."

"And what is that idea?" asks Albus nervously. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Mr. Malfoy turn away demonstratively and lean against the bare wall a few steps aside, as if it had just occurred to him that this conversation might be private.

"Well, it was more of a hunch. Anyway, I thought it was strange that your notable change was timed so close to your experiment with Fisher's wand." His hand quivers as he wipes his damp cheeks with his sleeve. Again, Albus is amazed by the strength that suddenly resonates with every word out of Scorpius' mouth, even though he is clearly suffering. "If it is as _Akil Bengson's Reflections of Runic Studies_ says, it has cost you more than you know. He writes that any runic enchantment done out of a base motive brings one closer to the dark side."

Now it's back, his heart, and it's lumbering along, out of sync. Albus, who despite all his intentions would love nothing more than to pull Scorpius into his arms, wraps them around his own chest instead. "That sounds like a fanatic; someone who expects a demon behind every lumos to snatch a piece of your soul when you're not looking."

"But in your case, it's a perfect match, or I wouldn't have mentioned it in the first place! According to the book, it's the enchanter's extreme fixation on the damage he wants to do to another - magic like this always comes with a price! Don't you feel it?"

In fact, Albus does feel something; anger surging lazily in his gut. At the same time, he realizes that he must not, under any circumstances, reveal the true reason for his flaring behavior, for that would merely confirm Scorpius' preconceived notion. A blink of an eye later it occurs to him that he need hardly fear this if the separation is certain anyway.

"And you don't even realize what nonsense you're talking, do you? I've been snapping at you, it's true, but you sometimes really are a handful! The fact that I couldn't get this right after a weekend like this doesn't surprise me at all!"

Scorpius runs his hand over his cheeks to dry the last tears. He has stopped crying too, instead a deep crease has formed between his eyebrows, and he keeps his furious gaze fixed directly on Albus. "I've also told you a thousand times that I don't expect this at all! Listen to me - the point is that it felt different than usual!"

"So, what's been so different about me? After all, I barely got to say anything to you before you jumped on me like a mother hen!"

"Well, that! Do you even get how you talk to me?"

An exasperated laugh escapes from between Albus' lips, a sound that causes Scorpius' hands to clench into fists. "What do you expect?" Even through his racing pulse, Albus can hear his voice roll over. "No matter what I say, how I look or breathe, you always see some reason to worry in it. Don't you know how much it sucks to be judged all the time? I thought I was finally past that after I got rid of my brother and my dad, but you just keep doing it!"

"Oh, well, if we're back to the point where you're accusing me of acting like your father," Scorpius scoffs, "you can finally answer my question from last time! What else am I supposed to do? Should I just leave you alone and watch you destroy yourself? After all, I could become a behavioral scientist and take notes." At first he rolls his eyes, but apparently he can't keep up his sarcastic manner for long. He intertwines his fingers in his strands of hair, tugging at them, but though it must hurt, he doesn't seem to care, and the scorn seeps out of his voice, leaving nothing but sheer desperation. "Tell me what I can do to give us a chance."

The realization strikes Albus' mind like a bolt of lightning. _He won't give up, won't leave it at that, won't forget me. No matter how I attack him, he will ask for a solution_.

This time, too, it has been the same; although he has always made Albus feel as if he doesn't care about him, he has been probing in the background for the cause of his breakdown, throwing an infuriating, wayward hypothesis between them, just to avoid having to realize that there is no chance for them.

Horror paralyzes him as he feels how much he wants just that for himself; how much it impresses him that Scorpius believes in their relationship against all reason, and what a horrible position it is to be the one to crush all hope.

"There is no chance, Scorpius," he says, his voice wavering in a puny attempt to give it a firm sound.

"Why not? I'm not going to get on your nerves anymore, but maybe we can find a way to talk without it being too much for you!"

Albus winces. It's just as he expected, and now he's going to have to take a running start at shattering that confidence. "But this supposed new darkness has always been inside me. All the time we were becoming a couple, I was afraid of you coming into contact with it at some point, and now it's clear that that fear wasn't undwarranted at all! It's not because of any spells or motivations, it's simply the real me, and sometimes you don't give me enough time to suppress it!"

The reaction to his words surprises him. Instead of backing away from him or bursting into tears again, Scorpius casts a glance over his shoulder, as if to make sure that his father is still standing there, demonstratively staring holes in the air. Then he reaches out to touch him, and Albus, still looking at Mr. Malfoy, is too distracted to avoid the move.

The touch runs through his limbs like a shock. His first reflex, to run away and put as much space between Scorpius and himself as he possibly can, freezes in an all-consuming grief, along with his muscles and thoughts. All he does is stare at the intertwined fingers, one reddish, the other pale.

"Come along, Albus. I have something to tell you. In private."

It takes him time to let Scorpius pull him away, first past Mr. Malfoy, who turns away at that moment and heads for the stairs, briskly, as if a thankless task lies behind him. The atmosphere in the library is more than ever like a graveyard of mostly unused knowledge, now that they are the only visitors besides the librarian Madam Pince. The suspicious look from her narrowed eyes follows them deeper inside, until Scorpius pulls him into a side corridor.

"So," Scorpius whispers before letting go of Albus' hands and leaning against a shelf full of reference books on vampires. "Tell me more about this darkness you mentioned."

The flash caused by their touch only gradually fades from his nerves, still a tingling marks the places where his fingertips have rested. Albus finds himself unable to block it out, and he can't resist this unexpected curiosity in Scorpius' expression for long. "Um. I used to think of this darkness as more of an "it," an evil thing that ... That helped me cope with my life. It's inside me, hard to control, and doesn't really want anything more than for people to drown in their self-inflicted grief. But ... that _thing -_ that's me."

"Oh, then I guess you really have always been at risk of becoming a dark wizard someday," Scorpius replies lightly, faltering for a moment and then drawing his eyebrows together. "Sorry, that - I didn't mean that. I ... Oh, cross out that last sentence, please. Well, I kind of guessed it. The Slytherin crest on your chest was a minimal hint that you were a bit different than me. Maybe that's why I was so intrigued by you at first." He smiles cryptically.

Albus doesn't like this development. Scorpius is quite right in his first remark - if he loses control over himself, he could well slip into something sinister without being able to do anything about it. So why would he smile at him in such a disconcerting way?

"Then you understand why we can't stay together."

"Honestly, I don't see it that way. I rather think we can't break up."

Stunned, Albus stares at him. "But you ... A moment ago you were harping on about how I've changed so much - because of a single remark that I made in, if I may say so, a state of utter despair! Of course we have to split up, or do you think I'll manage to keep this thing under control from now on?"

Scorpius raises an eyebrow. "Keep your voice down or we'll get kicked out." Again he smiles, and Albus can't shake the thought that he seems to have lost his mind. "I know something now that I didn't realize before. As I've said a hundred thousand times, I was just worried, and all you have to do now is stop trying to control this _thing_."

Silence, numbing, droning and thunderous, spreads between them. Albus can't tell how long it lasts, but it seems like a lifetime before he regains control of his tongue.

"You're not really going to tell me to suddenly start cutting off the heads of people who come at me stupidly, are you?" A drastic example, completely exaggerated, spouted in the hope that Scorpius might finally understand the scope of the problem.

At least that smile didn't shatter on his question. In fact, Scorpius reaches out to him again, not hesitantly as before, but full of determination. He strokes Albus's wild, unwashed hair (that he doesn't flinch in disgust he attributes to a self-control usually more of his own), then lets his fingertips brush across Albus' temple to his cheek to run his thumb across his lips.

The unexpected tenderness blurs the creepy smile on Scorpius' face as the yearning for him surfaces.

"I don't think even a dark wizard would cut off everyone's head," Scorpius whispers, taking a step toward him and leaning his forehead against Albus'. He suppresses a pained gasp. "What I was actually going to suggest is to stop calling it a thing. It's part of you, after all."

Then he pulls Albus close, and the unspoken words between them are displaced by the intimate embrace. It is impossible to not return it, impossible to push Scorpius away, impossible to break his own rapidly pounding heart to pieces again. As if control had never been more than an illusion, a fairy tale Albus told himself to calm down, he closes his eyes and allows it to happen.


	19. Confidence

They have not spoken since Scorpius told him to accept the thing as part of himself. For what seems like an eternity, they stand there, arm in arm, listening to their breathing as if there is nothing in the world but their rejoined unity while their grief fades into each other's atmosphere.

Each time Scorpius catches his breath or swallows, the warm, soft skin of his neck tingles against Albus's lips, a brief shock as if he had forgotten the sensation by then. It interrupts his thoughts in a welcome way, though of course it doesn't get him anywhere, because despite the elusive feeling of happiness they're still there, the things they need to talk about.

Albus may have been mistaken in assuming his true nature would harm their relationship by its very existence or alienate Scorpius, and if that were all that concerned him he would wholeheartedly admit his mistake. But it isn't. The real reason for Albus' retreat from their close bond still stands between them, and so he tears himself away from the embrace of warmth and never-ending confidence. Again, it feels like he's deliberately inflicting pain, and under Scorpius' worried gaze he staggers backward, only to let his back slide down the bookshelf.

He almost expects to be pelted again with questions or comments about his condition but Scorpius remains silent and settles down beside him. Either he's chewing on what stands unsaid between them himself or he's taking to heart what Albus has thrown at him. Either way, it adds to the pressure - a moral pressure that calls for him to get his thoughts into a groove quickly, so that Scorpius doesn't have to suffer through it any more than absolutely necessary.

Of course, it doesn't help Albus one bit to find the right words.

The afternoon sun divides the space before them with a beam of bright light. It looks as if the ubiquitous dust is just swirling around inside this strip as if the dirt is merely projected in from outside. Albus, sitting on the floor next to Scorpius, presses the back of his head against the shelf and stares into it, imagining that his erratic thoughts will also waft exclusively in the light and disappear as soon as the sun sets.

He can hear the life out there: Shouting, laughter, the perpetual rustle of a fresh wind, for them all now congealed into a background noise. It reminds him of his childhood, of the screeching from the children outside, near the forest, while he sought the isolation of his room. Self-selected bitterness.

Except this time Scorpius' warmth flows over to him, breaking up the dark clouds inside him.

The silence between them is languid and sated, and it feels to Albus as if it is fed directly by the dark fears in his chest and the caustic words, dammed in his throat. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Scorpius comb his hair with his fingers.

After all the acceptance he's unexpectedly received, it feels shabby to keep his mouth shut, to keep fiddling with the words a little longer. Whatever will happen, whether Scorpius might leave him because of his dream and the resulting fear of actually being treated like that one day or yet again seek an excuse to stuff him full of undeserved love until he bursts, Albus couldn't soften it with the right words anyway. Or change anything about the fact that it's basically up to Scorpius.

He clears his throat. Scorpius' movements freeze on the spot, as if he'd been cursed, and Albus closes his eyes to keep from being distracted. "I was a complete idiot not to talk to you. But so are you," he says softly, almost gently, a foreign tone coming from his mouth. "On Monday night, I waited for you, hoping to talk things out. Instead, you put my things on my bed, and if I'm not mistaken, that should very well be a complete break. Without a single word at that. I don't think I could have caused you that much pain with my complaining."

"I ... I never meant to hurt you. That you would take it as a final breakup didn't even cross my mind. It was just so ... hard, with your blanket and your sweater, everything smelling like you, and I had to fight all night not to get in bed with you, so I had to get rid of things and -"

"It's okay," Albus says, interrupting the overflowing stream of words from Scorpius' mouth. If he let him continue to speak, to listen to him, to engage with his pain, he would have to scrape together all his courage one more time, and in all likelihood he would lack the strength to do so. Even now, his hands feel shaky as he wipes the greasy strands from his face. "I probably would have given you back your things, too. If I had any of yours, which I don't -"

He laughs shakily, shakes his head so that his hair hangs in front of his eyes again, and starts to speak once more. "You never wanted to hurt me? I don't want to hurt you either, not with words but not with actions either, and on Monday in the shower I had to choose between those things. At least that's how it felt to me." Albus pauses as his tongue seems too big for his mouth all at once, and he knows why. The words that would follow now don't want to come out.

"Hey," Scorpius says softly, leaning his forehead against Albus' shoulder so that only his neatly pulled side parting is visible, and his hair slipping forward onto Albus' crumpled sweater. Bright and shiny, it stands out against the black wool, drawing his gaze but it's the gesture that seems to loosen the knot in his tongue and put him at ease. "You can tell me anything, Al. In fact, you should because if you don't, I don't know how we're going to make this work either. What is it that gets you down so much that you feel you have to protect me from by being disgusting to me?"

"You're right. It's just so hard because it's kind of ... On the one hand, it almost feels ridiculous, like I'm overreacting, and on the other hand, it's from this dark part of me, so -"

"Am I supposed to be offended because you trust me to endure so little?" Still Scorpius hides his face against his shoulder but Albus hears his amusement even without looking at him. Of course, he has to put the monstrosity into words for Scorpius to take it seriously.

"I had a nightmare on Monday where I made you do things you didn't want to do. And in my dream, I had fun forcing you. I purposely overheard your no. And that scared me a lot because I expect to go that far someday when I'm under pressure. Especially when I no longer control myself."

It's as Albus expected: All at once, time seems to stand still. His pulse beat displaces all other noise, all uncertainty. Now that he has given space to the truth and a name to his fear, everything that follows is unchangeable for him. Something he must surrender to because he has no other choice. For the first time, he has voluntarily surrendered control of the situation to Scorpius, and he can only wait to see what will happen now.

This is what he does. He is frozen in amazement at how easy it has been in the end and waits for his verdict.

At first, nothing happens. Scorpius is still leaning against him, his breath atomizing through the fibers of his sweater, warming his skin, and it's a pleasant, heavy feeling. Albus tries to focus on that rather than on the possibility that Scorpius might choose to keep himself safe. It would be understandable, and actually exactly what he was hoping for before they met but the painful tearing in his chest that would be ignited by any thought in that direction would shatter any good feeling even before the final decision.

At some point Scorpius begins to slide around on his butt but he still doesn't move his head, as if he's stuck to Albus with it. _Or maybe he's just afraid to look at me while he's dumping me_ , Albus thinks, and there it is again, the tugging, this time in his stomach and amplified many times over.

"Was your dream about sex? You said you forced me, and somehow it sounded like -"

"Yes, Scorpius. It was about sex. You didn't want to but I apparently did. Or at least I wanted what you didn't want. Maybe I was also getting off on the fact that you didn't want to."

"Oh."

Instead of another response, Scorpius's arms wrap around his upper arm, clinging to him as if he were a buoy, tipping the balance as Albus's dignified, surprised patience suddenly turns to irritation. Scorpius sighs and presses his forehead more firmly into his sweater, takes a deep breath - and still says nothing.

"You do realize it takes two to talk, right?" snaps Albus as he can no longer stand the tension in his stomach. "One to say something, and one to respond!" His words cut through the silence lastingly.

Groaning unwillingly, Scorpius straightens up, puts distance between them, and leans back against the bookshelf. The blush on his ears and cheeks glows in the color-saturated atmosphere enhanced by the light of the sunset. He avoids his gaze by examining his fingernails closely, as if to make sure they are clean and neat. As if there were nothing more important in the world.

The sudden cold makes Albus shiver.

"What do you expect me to say about that?" mumbles Scorpius. He looks like he's talking to his hands, and a nervous urge to laugh let Albus tense up. "I mean, I could tell that you're afraid of that sort of thing. But how likely is it that a part of you will become a rapist, logically speaking, if you're already making such a drama over a nightmare?"

Something inside Albus shuts down. There they sit, he's telling Scorpius his darkest secret, and Scorpius has nothing better to do than to ridicule it. "You call this drama?" he asks, trying for a calm tone but indeed his tension is clearly audible.

Suddenly, Scorpius turns his head to the side and captures him with a hard look, the likes of which Albus has never seen in his eyes. "Of course. It's so absurd, and unwarranted above all, to try to sneer me away because you had a nightmare. Do you really not see that? Then you're probably blind. Or wait. Maybe it's not dramatic but just totally blockheaded."

Albus stares at him. By now, a frown line has formed between Scorpius' drawn-together eyebrows, and his jaw has tightened. He returns Albus' befuddled stare impassively with pure defiance. What surprises him even more than the most aggressive reaction his usually gentle friend has ever directed at him is the fact that he doesn't even wait for a response.

"Do you honestly trust yourself to do something like that? Have you ever felt empowered and horny when you've done something like that to anyone? I'd bet you haven't." He pauses, as if giving Albus time to formulate a retort only to cut him off anyway. Stunned, mouth agape, Albus listens to the tirade.

"Well, and why can't you say anything about it? Because you've never done anything like this before! So far you've punched your brother, which was well deserved, and read from my father's diary. Out of guile or curiosity _and_ because I gave you the book," he holds up his index finger and then his middle finger, as if he needed visual support to enumerate Albus' mistakes. "Then you equipped Kaden's wand with a trap that only triggers when he intents to hurt others. Overall, that's a pathetic cut for someone who thinks he has to protect others from himself."

Albus wouldn't have known what to say anyway, so he closes his mouth again. Nervously, his fingers tug at his collar as if it were too tight for him, and an itch spreads wherever the wool of the sweater scrapes across his bare skin beneath.

"The truth is, Al. _I_ stole a letter that was none of my business, and wrecked quite a bit as a result. Then _I_ attacked Fisher when he put you through the wringer in the common room, which probably made him pretty mad. _I_ seduced you, and if I may remind you, you didn't necessarily want outright either. Now we're even, but there's still something to come, after all, _I_ then destroyed Fisher's leverage by kissing you - against your will - in front of the whole school. I bet if it wasn't for my efforts, you wouldn't have had to manipulate that wand at all."

He raises an eyebrow. "Did I forget something? Oh yeah, that's right, I overpowered Fisher in the common room the other day, exposing him to ridicule, which made you blackmail him to save me from his wrath. So if it wasn't for you, I probably would have been killed by now. That actually anyway, because without you I'd still have James on my back."

"When you list it like that, it's really ... But you don't have a dark core inside you that only wants to do bad things to other people," Albus hastily blurts out and then pulls his lower lip between his teeth. He is aware that his objection is weak. Scorpius has made an impressive (and very vocal) case for why he thinks his concerns are moronic. It may not have completely convinced him but Scorpius has revealed a carefully hidden side of himself that backfires on his beliefs.

"Nope, I don't have a two-part character. Anything vicious I do comes directly from me." Scorpius crosses his arms in front of his chest and gives him a scowl, the corners of his mouth curled. "Because as long as you're not a psychopath that's not necessary. You can just be yourself. That's what I've been _trying_ to tell you all along."

In his dream, Scorpius was nothing but a statist. He merely voiced his wish for Albus to stop but did nothing to stand up against him. Neither did he run away nor did he kick or punch or let alone squirm under him. All he did was close his eyes in distress.

This was not Scorpius but some characterless dream image. Caught up in the current of his panic, he's been so busy trying not to submerge that he's failed to notice how little it does the real boy justice.

With his heart palpably throbbing with excitement, he watches Scorpius, who stares at him insistently, apparently trying to add weight to his words. An entirely futile effort. A blink later, his lips tremble before they contort into a half-smile. "Besides, I can hardly think of anything you could be more wrong about. I mean," he leans forward until his lips graze the skin of Albus' earlobe, "we're all alone here. It might be a while before anyone even returns to the castle, let alone comes here."

He knows what Scorpius is up to before he leans against him and places his hand unceremoniously on his lap, rubbing it over Albus' dirty sweatpants as if he doesn't even notice the poor general condition of his body. "It's been so long," Scorpius purrs in his ear, exhaling deeply, filling the air around him with the scent of something sweet. Then his soft lips kiss their way down his cheek.

Albus is aware that Scorpius can be irresistible. If only he would spare a few thoughts about waiting for a more appropriate moment! By now he has reached Albus' lips, covering the drooping corners of his mouth with many little kisses, and all these efforts are so unpleasant to him that not even a tiny spark of arousal could arise, even if Scorpius were to undress on the spot.

Nevertheless, he cannot move at first. The last few days must have taken their toll, because it takes a while before he manages to get to his feet and take a few steps back. His hunched body splits the beam of light at his back in half. "Scorp, I can't do this right now. I'm sorry, I -" He interrupts himself as he notices the knowing smile on his boyfriend's face and raises his hands in front of his chest. "That was on purpose. You knew it wouldn't suit me now."

Scorpius also gets to his feet. He seems to be taking the grief of the past week better than Albus for his movements are unerring, almost elated. With a laugh, he fishes Albus' defensively raised hands out of the air, clasping them with his own. "You really don't have anything to worry about. First of all, I'm not as sensitive as you make me out to be. Second, you're a lot more prudish than I am. You'd probably have to really pound your own boundaries into the ground before you'd even _touch_ mine."

By now, Albus feels so overwhelmed by all the events and emotions that he doesn't notice his smile until it stretches his lips down the middle. The confidence that spreads through the part of his chest where moments ago a lump of fear had lain, poisoning everything around it, is not his own. It comes from Scorpius, forwarded by his hands, reflected by his face, implanted by his words.

It is a special moment when Albus realizes that he has little in common with the boy he had been before they became close. Even if they parted ways for good, he could never again become fully independent of other people, not to the extent that he once had been. Nothing changes the fact that he needs Scorpius at least as much as the latter seems to need him.

"Besides, if you ever try to rape me, I'll at least kick you in the face," Scorpius interjects, puffing out his cheeks in mock outrage. "After all, just because I love you doesn't mean I have to put up with all your crap."

Albus, his hands still in Scorpius' grip, winces, all at once giddy with excitement. "Don't know what your Dream-Scorpius did about it, but judging by your reaction to it, it certainly wasn't very realistic."

He wonders if he should pretend he didn't hear it as his heart races and the grin deepens on his face until he feels his bottom lip tear in. He doesn't know what to say, or if he should say anything at all, but again, he doesn't have to worry about it this time, because Scorpius interrupts his flow of speech, widening his eyes for a second, then shaking his head.

"Oh dear. On top of everything we talked about today, I also said that I love you. That's kind of embarrassing, because I definitely didn't want to tell you that in the library, just today, and overwhelm you. You don't have to answer anything. It's my own problem."

A giggle inexorably strives upward from Albus' chest and bursts out of him only a blink later. "You have no idea," he relents with a grin, leaning forward and pressing his torn lips to Scorpius'. It's a gentle, tender kiss, and Albus hopes to buy himself a few minutes until Scorpius will secretly expect a response, contrary to his previous assurances.

Albus will make sure he gets it, but in a different way than he might hope.

* * *

Scorpius remains silent as Albus walks three times along the seemingly bare seventh-floor wall, a little impatient at first, for he hasn't been told what it's all about despite his constant questions, but as the door looms in the stone, the annoying patter of his shoe tips on the floor ceases.

"That's the Room of Requirement," he murmurs rapturously. "Father told me about it, but no matter how many times I asked him he never told me where to find it." His gray eyes light up with excitement. "What kind of place did you ask for? Oh, please say it's a room with a big bed. Or a shower!"

Suppressing an overwrought laugh, Albus puts his hand on the metal doorknob and pushes it down. "I told you I wanted to show you something. I didn't mean my genitals by that."

Despite his sharp tone, Scorpius grins widely. "Aaaaw, are you sure? The dirty things you're blabbing in my face are making me all fuzzy. I might trip, tear my pants, and unfortunately have to strip, and then -" He wiggles his eyebrows meaningfully.

"Okay, Scorp. So you don't spoil everything for us ... In there I have the answer to your love confession," he mutters, giving Scorpius a cursory glance, then pushes open the door into his rune lab.

Scorpius steps inside, feverish with curiosity, and looks around uneasily. Albus does the same, closing the door behind him so that it dissolves, sealing them in his own little sphere.

He hasn't been here since Wednesday, and that day he merely brought in his treasure and arranged it next to the ring on the work table. They still lie there just as he left them, the binding ring on a small bag of black lace, sparkling gold, the Marauder's Map right next to it. Slowly, almost reverently, he steps past Scorpius and approaches the table. The pink glow that runs through the ring intensifies.

Behind him, Scorpius chuckles nervously. "I don't mean to complain, but honestly, it sounds a little like you're about to kill me. You lure me into this storage room, tell me you love me too, and that's exactly why you need to preserve me forever and all, and then ..." He drags his index finger across his neck. "Whoosh."

Jerkily, Albus turns to face him. "Can you stop being annoying for a second?" he asks quietly. "I'm trying to do something romantic here right now."

"Uh, yeah. I can stop overplaying my nervousness, sure. But what I said is romantic, too, isn't it?" Scorpius' long fingers interlock quiveringly, and he lets his hair fall into his face with a sweep of his head.

"All right, I guess that was a stupid question of mine," Albus says gruffly. "Killing you would just be sick!" He keeps his eyes on Scorpius, who starts patting the floor with the tip of his foot again. His faintly burgeoning frustration causes his movements to become imprecise, and as he grabs for the ring on the table, he snatches away the small bag it had been lying on.

Before he even realizes it, he sweeps the contents of the bag onto the floor with a gimmicky smack. He follows Scorpius' startled gaze down to his feet where the three condoms shimmer innocently, staged by the flickering glow of the fire baskets behind him.

"Am I getting this right?" Scorpius gasps in disbelief. "' _I want to fuck you_ ' is your response to me expressing my love for you? This is what you dragged me here for - to give me this oh-so-romantic gesture? Not that I don't appreciate that sort of thing, I mean ..." A dirty grin spreads across his face before he lowers his gaze again. "My answer to that is yes, three times yes. But that's still kind of disappointing."

Cheeks burning, Albus kicks the condoms under the table. "That's not what I meant at all!" he exclaims in a panic, waving the ring (and the darn little bag that flutters like a flag behind his hand) around in front of Scorpius' face. "This here is a binding ring! I - I wanted to restore it for us before ... Anyway, it's for you, if you want it ... And if you don't, that's still an answer, isn't it?"

"Oh, by Morgana's crow," Scorpius murmurs. His gaze follows the golden gleam of the ring, blurred in its flight, for a numb moment before he looks up into Albus' contorted face. Then he snorts and breaks into a loud cackle. "You're just unbelievable!"

Wiping tears of laughter from the corners of his eyes, Scorpius slumps against him. The impact takes Albus' breath away before arms wrap tightly around his chest. Scorpius' grin still hasn't faded as he kisses Albus (making the kiss a little firmer than he's used to), and now he has to laugh, too.

"I'll take the ring," Scorpius whispers in his ear, then pokes it with his tongue. "But only if we use these condoms first." Another laugh. Albus doesn't know if it was a joke or not, but maybe it doesn't matter.


	20. One option among thousands

A day like this, when apparently everything happens that can happen, has ended in great chaos in Albus' life every time so far, which is why he is almost expecting to slither into the next downpour with a running start. Although Scorpius and he have not left the Room of Requirement, he lurks suspiciously for the next disturbance of their peace.

He sits on the couch, his back pressed into the dingy backrest, and Scorpius snuggles in, rests his head against Albus' shoulder as he did earlier in the library. Every now and then he reaches out to look at the binding ring he's slipped on his right ring finger, wiggles his fingers, contemplates the gleam in the firelight, and sighs contentedly. Whenever he does, Albus regrets not being able to rejoice with him.

There is something that troubles him deeply, and that has become a problem the moment Scorpius has accepted the ring. The relief that he has finally accepted his gesture, after the embarrassing scene before, as a proof of love after all, has quickly flowed out of him because now Scorpius will expect him to enchant it as promised. It won't give Scorpius any peace, and he'll take it as a sign to get nervous if Albus doesn't follow through.

He knows Scorpius will ask about it, and then he'll need a good, quick-fire explanation so he doesn't ruin their relationship again, barely after they've found each other once more. He ponders and ponders, until a slight ache stretches through his temple. But when Scorpius finally asks, Albus still doesn't know the answer.

"What do you actually need to restore the spell?" Once again, Scorpius looks at his hand. "Any special ingredients perhaps that are hard to come by? Because I could be useful in this matter as well." He chuckles, then adds, drawling, "Things you can't buy on every street corner are sometimes found somewhere in our house."

"What makes you think that?" mumbles Albus absentmindedly, running a hand through his stringy hair. "I don't need anything for it that wasn't already lying around here." He bites his tongue, cursing inwardly. There would have been countless better responses than that defensive grumble, and he feels Scorpius tense up beside him.

For a few seconds, Scorpius seems to struggle not to get upset. He breathes in and out strained, as deeply as he can, and Albus' hand begins to shake. Scorpius must have felt it, because he straightens up and glances back, at Albus's arm, which is now slowly sliding onto the seat cushion. "Oh. I thought that was the reason you hadn't worked on the ring before." Out of the corner of his eye, Albus sees him staring. Uneasily, he lets his gaze slide across the stone floor to avoid him.

"No. I wanted to make sure you wanted it before I even started. After all, it takes a lot of energy."

"Okay, I understand that. But why are you so down? I was just kidding about the condoms, Albus, I don't want to pressure you! Something's been different since then."

Though the barely repressed memory of the embarrassing incident throbs in his temple again, he turns abruptly, causing Scorpius to flinch. "No! I swear that's not why!"

It is true that Scorpius' strange jokes catch him off guard many a time. Maybe one day he'll be able to tell him that they strike him as absurd and inappropriate now and then, but he'll wait for a moment when he doesn't exactly give in to his insecurity - Albus can't think of a worse time to criticize Scorpius than right now.

His attempt to put on a reassuring smile fails, and Scorpius purses his mouth. "Yeah, I can really tell how happy you are," he mutters, rolling his eyes. "Who wouldn't start cheering at such an ... authentic demonstration of contentment? You've been brooding all this time, and I'm really starting to wonder if we'll ever see a day when everything is okay between us."

There's a hint of bitterness in his words, and Albus' stomach lurches in fear that Scorpius is now really getting his teeth into the subject.

"I've wondered that myself, but it's really not. It's -" Hastily, he points to the ring. "I can't shake the feeling that something isn't right."

Chagrined, Scorpius looks down, at the hand in his lap where the ring seems to sparkle innocently. "Are you doubting us?" he asks softly. "Or just that we should be bound?"

"I don't doubt," Albus replies pressedly. That Scorpius would refer such a statement to himself is something he should have considered, and he groans in frustration before making another attempt at an explanation. "It's more like I forgot something important, you know? Maybe there's something wrong with the ring - or with the spell. Or with my intention. What if I mess up and we hate each other forever?"

Though his nervousness intensifies as he speaks, he is relieved when Scorpius curls his mouth into a mocking smile. "So you doubt."

"But not us. Only me."

"You don't have to," Scorpius replies gently, tentatively brushing a strand of hair from Albus' face. This unexpectedly affectionate gesture cuts cracks in his fear, and Albus can't suppress the thought that the separation may have actually done them some good.

He, who managed to say anything at all instead of blindly giving in to his fears and thus reinforcing his friend's, and Scorpius, who is engaging with him and what he's saying, trusting him and diluting his doubts - neither has coped well with the time they couldn't be together but apparently both have learned.

"I don't think you'd make a mistake. You enchanted the wand, after all, and there are so many books here for us to delve into in the near future that we'll be able to erase any doubt in the end."

"In theory, I know exactly what to do. It's going to be very tiring, and I have a very short time frame on this enchantment before I have to complete it, so every stitch should be in place." He taps the ring on Scorpius' finger and feels a feathery tingle run through his skin. "If I do something wrong and don't notice, it may just make the spell ineffective. Or, well ... It's a bit like brewing a potion. When you forget a step and the result becomes unpredictable."

Scorpius furrows his eyebrows in confusion. "So the ring only lets you do whatever you need to do for a few minutes before it shuts down?"

"Something like that. It's not the ring, it's the binding spell." Albus takes a deep breath before continuing, fixing Scorpius to watch his reaction. "It is very intense and debilitating. Experienced runemasters might manage to take half an hour, but for me it would be potentially life-threatening."

As Albus expected, Scorpius froze in horror. The vivid red on his cheeks fades, and he visibly swallows. "Does that mean you can die from it?"

"If I act really, really stupid, yes. That can happen with any enchantment, by the way."

"Then I want you to leave it alone!" exclaims Scorpius, grabbing him by the shoulders as if to shake him. "We'll stay together even without this enchantment! What would be gained if you died in the process?"

The urgent concern in his friend's voice sends a wild, unveiled joy surging through his chest that seems to radiate all the way to the tips of his toes, and Albus bites his lips to keep from grinning. "Probably nothing."

Scorpius stares at him, hands still pressed into his shoulder. " _Probably_ nothing? You're fucking with me, aren't you?"

Now the grin does break out of him, and he leans forward to kiss Scorpius. "Yeah," he replies simply. "I don't think anyone has ever cared so much about me. It's just too good not to savor it a little. Sorry."

"Wonderful, how my panic gives you such pleasure," Scorpius murmurs sourly. "Marvelous."

"If it scares you so much, I won't restore the binding spell, but you could just be there to knock the ring out of my hand if I'm not done after ten minutes."

"I don't know, maybe we could -"

At the edge of his vision, Albus notices a sudden change on the bare wall between two bookshelves and winces as the door they entered through begins to slide out of the stone. He watches in trepidation as the door handle moves forward and is abruptly pushed.

Scorpius, who hasn't noticed why Albus is staring stiffly past him, waves his hand in front of his face. "Hello, aren't you talking to me anymore?"

Albus' heart races as he leans forward and holds out his hands. Without thinking, he grabs Scorpius' hand and yanks the ring down, then leaps to his feet. As he stares hurriedly at the pressed-down knob, he lets it slip into his pants pocket. (It would be an unforgivable mistake for anyone to mistake Scorpius for the thief-)

"Why are you snatching it from me now?" exclaims Scorpius indignantly, standing up as well. "Is it because I'm panicking that you'll kill yourself with it? You gave it to me anyway!"

"I'll explain later, it's not what it looks like -" Albus whispers, but when Professor Longbottom, of all people, enters his rune lab, he interrupts himself and gulps. Scorpius says nothing more either. He turns and stares wide-eyed at the intruder.

As if barging into this room, of all places, is a common thing, Professor Longbottom smiles and saunters toward them. "I'm not surprised to find you here, Albus. Your father is looking for you somewhere in the castle, but I thought I'd better try right here."

Wiping his sweaty hands on his pants, Albus sets to retort. He opens his mouth, produces a weak croak, and shivers uncomfortably. That a teacher would march into his rune lab without ever having heard of it, and presumably throw detention at him over the course of the evening, is so unlikely that it underscores Albus's expectations in the confused end to a chaotic day in a consummate way.

Frowning worriedly, Professor Longbottom looks at him. "Are you all right, Albus?"

Albus wants to say that everything is okay, aside from the fact that he'll probably be kicked out of school, but luckily the words are unformable for his dry mouth, incomprehensible, so he can merely stare at him dumbly.

"You may not be surprised, but _I_ am!" squawks Scorpius between them. "I thought no one could get in here when the room was in use!"

"Yes, you can. You just have to know which room to ask for," Professor Longbottom replies cheerfully. He lets his gaze wander over the bookshelves before letting it rest on the couch. With a sly smile, he raises an eyebrow.

"Remember one thing: I have enough experience using this room to catch students in unauthorized activities. I'm certainly not going to say anything more about it. After all, I don't want you to think I'm encouraging you to come here more often."

Embarrassed, Albus looks down at the floor, staring at it strainedly, as if he could pry it open with sheer force of will and make it bury him under the rubble of the castle. At least there it would be chilly, lonely, and the chances of further humiliation would be minimal, runs through his mind as Scorpius leans over to him. "It sounds like he thinks we screwed on the sofa," he says in a hushed voice.

Professor Longbottom clears his throat. "He actually thinks that."

Albus closes his eyes in shame, trying to push back the nausea that makes his stomach lurch. The unhelpful thought occurs to him that Scorpius is apt at making embarrassments like this so profound that it will reverberate for a long time.

"Not only is Albus' father here, but yours has also been forced to haunt us today," Professor Longbottom said. "Along with several other parents."

Cheeks burning, Albus looks up in alarm, over at Scorpius, who frowns. "What happened? He was with me earlier, but I thought he was coming to see me."

"You'll have to inquire about that with your father. I really can't tell you anything about it."

"I don't know if ..."

"Go on. I'll come after you later on with Albus." His firm voice leaves no doubt that Professor Longbottom wants Scorpius gone, and a cold shiver runs down Albus' neck. Suddenly, a new fear takes shape. What if he somehow found out about Kaden's wand and now wants to punish him for it?

Scorpius seems to share his fear, for he looks at him with widened eyes and doesn't move an inch. The silence thickens until Professor Longbottom sighs, "Now is not the time to fear me. I merely wish to speak with Albus about something private. Off to the Great Hall, Scorpius. Or would you prefer I bring your fathers here?"

Whatever their herbology teacher could be accused of, Albus had never heard such a threat come from his mouth. If he were to carry it out, it would be fatal for all of them, of course. Their fathers would probably reduce the Room of Requirement to rubble. Not to mention the far worse outcome that Harry would find out about him and his illegal enchantments in no time, as befits a decorated auror.

Scorpius squeezes his hand before starting to move; he takes a step toward the door, turning to face Albus as he does so, tripping over his own feet and just barely managing to balance himself before crashing into the pile of junk in the middle of the room. It looks funny, but Albus can't laugh about it because clammy fear still holds a grip on his heart. "It's okay, Scorp. I'll ... be fine."

Scorpius nods, casts a doubtful glance at Professor Longbottom, and then walks quickly toward the door, as if he can't wait to escape the oppressive atmosphere that seems to thicken the air in the lab, and Albus can't blame him. Arriving at the door, Scorpius turns to face him once more. "Good luck," he whispers, and slips out.

All at once, Albus feels strangely drained and powerless. Keeping his eyes on Professor Longbottom, he takes a few steps back, drops onto the couch, and sighs. "What exactly do you want to talk about?"

"Do you mind if I sit down?"

Albus shakes his head. "Is it that bad? I mean, sure, if Mr. Malfoy and my father are here, something bad must have happened, but ..."

"It's unpleasant," Professor Longbottom mutters before carefully settling down next to Albus. "Professor Nygaard is missing an old, very dangerous item that was taken from her classroom. For this reason, the students taking lessons in Ancient Runes are being questioned, as well as a few others who have also entered the classroom. The situation is serious. Headmistress McGonagall has summoned all the parents in question to inform them of the matter and to warn them sternly about the object." Again he looks around, this time his gaze lingering on the worktable.

Suppressing the urge to feel for the ring in his trouser pocket, Albus presses his fingernails into his knee. He guessed that she would notice his theft eventually - after all, she brought the ring here specifically to display it in her showcase. But that it should be dangerous, without a binding spell, he can't imagine.

Then why didn't Professor Nygaard seal the box with a spell, or even a runic enchantment?

"And you're here because of me," Albus states. He speaks softly to hide his agitation, and he realizes that he must weigh every word carefully to avoid giving himself away. "My lab in the Room of Requirement makes me suspicious, of course."

To his surprise, Professor Longbottom shakes his head. A puckered expression lingers on his face. "Your father is in a very agitated state. He was even before he learned why he was summoned here. I came to provide you with the option to stay out of his way."

Albus frowns. Although he is grateful for the change of subject, he wonders why his teacher would assume that he wants to avoid Harry. After all, Professor Longbottom has no way of knowing how much he loathes him. He looks into the man's serious brown eyes, and the memory of his father's outburst gurgles back into his consciousness. He must have repressed it, because it feels like years have passed since then. "Are you doing this because you were there when he grilled me about James?"

Professor Longbottom looks him in the eye. "He thinks you stole the item."

"I'm not surprised," Albus replies, averting his eyes. He feels a somber expression settle on his face. Although the ring is undoubtedly the item Professor Longbottom is talking about and he therefore is guilty, he cannot stifle the painful tugging in his chest. "He made an effort to get closer to me after he misbehaved. Kind of expected that he wouldn't be on my side forever."

Strictly speaking, Albus didn't lie with a single word, yet he feels like a snake, like the worst hypocrite he's ever met. Like a true Slytherin, he takes advantage of Professor Longbottom's kindness to wriggle out of a single, unpleasant situation, but he can't help himself, can't stand by the theft without thinking of Scorpius and how he promised to give him the ring.

As if he suspects it, as if he has somehow sensed that Albus is not being honest with him, Professor Longbottom frowns and says something that overcomes his barriers and settles abruptly, darkly in his mind like a virus. "I grew up without parents." He speaks softly and gently, but that makes it all the more impactful. "They were alive, but never truly accessible to me. A dark, cruel curse destroyed their minds."

Albus froze as horror seeped coldly into his stomach, intensifying the feeling of guilt. "This...this is terrible. I'm so sorry," he groans painfully past the lump in his throat.

Professor Longbottom flashes a sad smile. "Thank you for your sympathy - but I didn't tell you this to make you feel sorry for me. On the contrary. I have always known that they loved me, in spite of everything. So it is only with the greatest dread that I can imagine what you must be going through."

The words hit Albus unprepared, like a punch in the stomach. All at once, tears veil his gaze, dripping down his cheek, off his chin, and the lump in his throat swells. Hastily, he wipes them away under his teacher's concerned gaze. "I usually control myself better," he blurts out.

"I know."

Perhaps Professor Longbottom's harrowing story has paved the way for them; perhaps it is the unexpected and undeserved compassion of a man who has been through so much more than his calm air suggests. Now the tears are running down his cheeks so fast that he can't keep up with wiping them away.

"It's all right for you to cry, Albus. I won't tell anyone."

"I don't want to cry. Not about this," he snaps in frustration. "If I start now, I won't even have to stop." Albus puts his cool hands on his forehead, which feels unexpectedly good. He pauses. "Why do you bother with all this, anyway?"

"Because I've held back on caring for you for far too long. Your father has always wanted me to stay away from his family - and therefore you - ever since he cut me off as a friend. When he abused you, I realized that it had been a mistake to respect his wishes in this regard too much. I should have intervened much sooner." He props his elbows on his knees and rests his forehead on the heels of his hands, as if his head has suddenly become too heavy.

"You sound like you're trying to make me believe that you're actually my father." Albus snorts in amusement and wipes his face dry with the sleeve of his sweater.

Professor Longbottom massages his temples with circular hand motions. "Merlin. Harry must really hate me." As he lowers his hands and looks regretfully into Albus' eyes, he appears as if he has aged years in the last few minutes.

Even before he continues speaking, Albus knows he doesn't want to hear what Professor Longbottom has to say. The idea of covering his ears and humming loudly has barely entered his mind before the words are spoken and it's too late to brace himself against them. "Obviously they never told you. When you were born, your parents put me in as your godfather."

"It wasn't noticeable at all," Albus snarls, turning away.

Suddenly he wishes Professor Longbottom hadn't looked after him today of all days, hadn't searched for him, had let him run into Harry's arms before curfew and thus spared him from even knowing about it.

Of course it makes sense, of course he could have noticed it before; there have been some clues that Albus has taken for granted in his fixation on his own dramas. Professor Longbottom's refusal to leave when Harry had wanted to punish him, or the leniency he had shown to him more than once. But it starts even earlier, in his childhood.

Perhaps the most important clue is his father's guilty silence when asked why Albus was the only one without a godfather. The loneliness of then weighed as heavily as it does now, as it flows through his hollow body like a vivid reminder of his life.

"It's the biggest mistake I ever made."

"And why? Why did my father want to get rid of you? Why are you bringing this up now?" gasps Albus, not looking at him. "Maybe you should have just moved on and left me alone!" He slides a bit to the side until his thigh hits the arm rest of the couch, and presses his side against it to get as far away from Professor Longbottom as possible without having to stand up right away. Probably his legs wouldn't support him. Then he would fall over, right into the scrap heap, which would rarely have been as appropriate as it seems right now.

"I caught him doing something he didn't want me to tell your mother," he replies quietly. Albus believes he can feel Professor Longbottom's gaze on the back of his neck for a brief moment before the man stands up jerkily and moves a pace away from him and the sofa.

"That's it? That's why I'm without ..." He interrupts himself, gritting his teeth to keep from saying out loud what's on the tip of his tongue. _That's why he let me grow up without a godfather, when I would have had one_?

"Well, it would have undoubtedly torn your family apart if I had spoken to Ginny about it, and Harry judged me correctly. Even though I've been dithering about it, I was on the verge of going to her." He pauses. Out of the corner of his eye, Albus sees him shake his head. "Until you came to Hogwarts, my hands were tied, and even after that, I found it difficult to form a relationship with you against the wishes of one of your parents."

"And now, all of a sudden, you don't care that my father doesn't want you near me?" Although he tries hard to remain angry, his words lack sharpness.

"Yes."

Something inside Albus convulses, forcing him to lean forward and clench his teeth until his jaw hurts. A diffuse pain throbs in the emptiness of his chest, and if he didn't know better, he'd think he'd lost something important. Unsure, Albus casts a quick glance over at Professor Longbottom. The sad smile is back on his face, but this time it is undoubtedly for him, and he contorts his face into a reluctant grimace to keep from bursting into tears again. "I assume it was Mr. Malfoy you caught my father with."

"Only obliquely."

"Supposedly he broke up with him when he married my mother," Albus says, snorting contemptuously. The change of subject seems to suit him; he almost sounds like he's completely himself again. "Maybe that was a lie."

"In the meantime, I've talked to your mother, and so should you. Right now, I'm probably the last person who should be telling you exactly what happened between your parents." Uneasily, Professor Longbottom raises his shoulders to his chin, and though it tempts Albus to probe further, he decides to drop the subject.

He straightens up and looks at the man closely. Beneath the trepidation that he himself also feels, his open attitude toward Albus can be seen. What might his life have been like if he had been a part of it as Albus' godfather? He can guess. A person who has no trouble judging fairly and taking his side, despite being a Slytherin, would probably have been a great help.

"Well, you certainly need to digest the news first, presumably," Professor Longbottom says after a while. "That's why, before I stop your father from continuing to look for you, I need to switch into teacher mode once again."

Albus raises an eyebrow as a faint smile settles on his lips.

"I'll make it short. The stolen object from Professor Nygaard's possession is very dangerous. The principal and all the teachers ask whoever took it to return it immediately." The stern expression on Professor Longbottom's face relaxes. "I don't suspect you, Albus, but if, just _if_ , you took it, you can return it with no penalty by sending it anonymously with a school owl to anyone on the faculty. We're all really just concerned that no one gets hurt."

"Okay," Albus replies.

"Alright. I ... I don't underestimate how hard it's going to be to deal with everything I've told you today, but should you need anything, someone to listen to you or stand by you, you can always come to me."

"I'll ... consider it," he mumbles. "Maybe."

Professor Longbottom throws him a half-smile. "Maybe is good, after all. A start. Good night, Albus."

"Night."

He turns away, walks around the heap of useless objects, and stands in front of the bare wall. As the door appears, a question comes to Albus's mind that has been lost under all the weight of the conversation. "Professor?"

Reaching out for the door handle, Professor Longbottom turns, "Yes?"

"I was wondering why Mr. Malfoy is here. Scorpius has nothing to do with Ancient Runes. Isn't it odd that he should come anyway?"

An indistinct expression lies on the man's face. As he pushes down the handle, Albus at first thinks he won't answer, but after turning his back to him, he says quietly, "Indeed, Albus. Indeed."

The door slams shut behind him, and Albus slumps against the back of the seat, disoriented. He feels and thinks so much at once that it overwhelms him to even exist, but two things stand out from the clutter in his mind. First, that the search for the ring in his pocket is likely to soon draw much wider circles than he ever imagined. And second, that despite the distance between them, Professor Longbottom knows enough about Albus to track him down among thousands of different options in the Room of Requirement.


	21. A wise decision

The news about the missing object spreads like wildfire throughout Hogwarts. On his way to the common room, Albus hears the portraits whispering about it, and even on a landing that momentarily leads to nowhere, because the staircase adjoining it is just docking on the opposite side, the inhabitants of the paintings are discussing the incident animatedly. Forced to wait for the stairs, Albus stands before the yawning abyss, staring seven stories down into the depths, thinking of what lies ahead.

He will have to be honest with Scorpius and admit that he stole the binding ring. While Albus clings to the hope that the ring may not be the dangerous object Professor Longbottom spoke of, but even if it were, Scorpius would hardly be able to wear it around the school in plain sight.

Moreover, Albus suspects a trap behind the fact that the nature of the object has been kept secret. If the teachers conceal it, only the thief can know that it is a ring. Perhaps they are speculating that he will give himself away.

The previous conversation with his godfather has been running over and over in his mind during the time he has been catching his breath in the Room of Requirement, and it is the only logical explanation he can think of.

Perplexed, he turns, looking at a large painting that normally shows a scribe brooding over a giant table full of ancient texts, but is now being used as a discussion platform by some wizards and witches from other eras. The original occupant sits on the floor near the window, far away from the others, clutching his texts with a suffering expression, as if fearing they might harm them.

He is not wrong in believing this. After a lady with artfully pinned-up hair remarks that the thief may be a cavalier who wants to save his sweetheart against an unnecessary death from tuberculosis with the proceeds from selling the item, a middle-aged wizard flinches and spills the contents of his wine glass on the table.

"Oh _Elizabeth_ , you've always been such a loyal soul!" he exclaims, grabbing his forehead in disbelief, as if he actually meant to tell her what a silly cow she is. "This is still a school. The thief is a wayward little brat seeking some twisted kind of fame."

"How unromantic!" murmurs Elizabeth. "Why must you always think the worst of people?"

"Because people are all bad as soon as they leave infancy!"

The other portrait dwellers listen to them argue ravenously, seemingly uninterested in contributing anything to the topic themselves. Albus casts a glance over his shoulder. In the meantime, his stairway down has started jolting again on the other side of the abyss. Hoping to clear up at least one of his doubts before he has to talk to Scorpius, he decides to ask them point-blank if they know anything.

"Excuse me," he says, taking a step toward the painting. Suddenly finding himself being appraised by six pairs of painted eyes, he wipes his slippery palms on his grubby cloth pants. "Do you happen to know what this stolen item is supposed to be?"

The wizard who has been messing with Elizabeth looks at him with his nose wrinkled in disgust, as if he expected such interference from one of the brats, but Elizabeth herself gleefully pushes herself to the front of the portrait, blocking his view.

"No one knows anything for sure," she chirps, "It's a big secret!" A carelessly applied layer of white powder lies on her face, and the skin beneath seems to redden with excitement, creating a repulsive contrast. "I consider it a valuable object, and a young, noble man must have stolen it - perhaps as a gift for his sweetheart!" She sighs reverently, while scowling murmurs rise in the background.

"But -" Albus pauses as an idea occurs to him. If the ring is indeed supposed to be dangerous, the teachers would not merely be stirring up fears and hoping to succeed with it. That would be highly negligent. It is much more likely that they will use other means to get the object back. It's a shot in the dark, and he has nothing to lose.

Putting on a sheepish smile, he looks up at Elizabeth. "I have to agree with you, it's a romantic gesture. Most definitely, though." He pauses for a moment. "A lady as beautiful and elegant as you is naturally familiar with it."

Though the flattery sounds unpracticed to his own ears, perhaps even vulgar to a lady from another time, Elizabeth holds a hand in front of her mouth and giggles, making her seem like a little girl. In the background, a portly old man claps his hands. "Very well done, boy, hang in there," he says with a grin. Ignoring his interjection, Elizabeth looks down at him, her rosy lips twisted into a coquettish smile. "You flatter me, my sir."

"Yet it is true. I imagine your suitors are lining up to pay you their ... um. Their attentions." For a moment, Albus fears he has overdone it, however, instead of the expected repugnance, merely a longing expression enters Elizabeth's bright eyes. His heart thumping wildly in excitement, he continues his play. "Ah, it would be too bad if the thief were caught before he could present the gift to his lady."

"Tragic, really! You can imagine my distress that we, of all people, should help to prevent him from doing so," she replies gloomily.

Excitement passes through Albus' body like a jolt as Elizabeth confirms his suspicions. "Really? That's outrageous!" Gradually, the spectacle begins to amuse him, and he has to pull himself together not to lay it on too thick. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the grim-faced wizard who has been at loggerheads with Elizabeth scurry out of the portrait, his back arched sullenly as if he were going to throw up.

"Indeed. The handsome gentleman demanded that I report to him anything suspicious going on in this castle. But I _refused_! It is quite unseemly to meddle in other people's love affairs."

Albus is certain that the handsome gentleman can only be Professor Longbottom, and suppresses a victorious grin. "One should warn the cavalier!" he exclaims, playfully shocked.

"Indeed one should." Her wide eyes blink at him as if he had just given her the notion. "What an excellent idea! I'll keep an eye out for him! Be not troubled, good sir, love will not fail for the rabble who do not appreciate gestures like this."

At that moment, he feels a tremor under his feet that reaches up to his knees. Apparently the stairs have finally arrived, but Albus is about to put this fuss behind him. Once again, he forces a friendly smile onto his face.

"I am sure that you will help this love story to a positive end. Nevertheless, would you allow me to give you a hand in your endeavor? I could look around among my classmates for the thief," Albus replies. Once again he wipes the sweat from his palms, inwardly quivering with excitement.

Enraptured, Elizabeth claps her hands. "But of course!" She lowers her voice to a confidential whisper before continuing, "Well, certainly they didn't mention to me what exactly was taken, but I was instructed to watch for a small, gold trinket that shimmers in an unusual color." Again, a longing expression enters her eyes. "Oh, what a beautiful piece it must be."

His heart skips a beat. So it indeed must be the ring, runs through his mind before he clears his throat. "You can count on me, milady," he says. Suddenly his mouth is so dry that the words sound brittle in his ears. "Now, I'm afraid I must be going. Excuse me."

He turns away before pulling his face into a grimace. As interesting and fruitful as this experience may have been, he hopes he never has to flirt with a painting again.

"Please come again soon, good sir!" calls Elizabeth after him in a less than ladylike manner, as he is already hurrying down the stairs.

* * *

Albus is not surprised to see Scorpius loitering outside the entrance to the common room, his back leaned against the wall, waiting for him. Albus stops and looks at him for a moment, this tall, slender boy, blond curls hanging in his face. All at once, as if his beauty had pierced his heart, it suddenly pains him, and he is tempted to avert his gaze.

Instead, he keeps it fixed on Scorpius as he draws closer, not wanting to miss the moment when he looks up, and then he does. Looking into the gray eyes, he feels the lump in his throat swell again. For a second, they both seem frozen, as if they had just thought the same thing. Then Scorpius turns and abruptly runs down the corridor toward him, throwing himself into his arms.

Contrary to his expectation that Scorpius would merely tell him again how much he had been worried about him, the latter puts his face in the crook of his neck and takes a deep breath. The lump in his throat seems to dissolve, and Albus wraps his arms around his back. "What did Professor Longbottom want?" asks Scorpius after a while.

How is he supposed to tell something like that? _Hey, Scorpius, remember that ring I gave you today? Well, I stole it. And if that wasn't enough, it's apparently highly dangerous, so the whole castle is already looking for it._ The thought fills him with panic, interspersed with grim amusement.

"I don't know how to begin," he mutters. "It's so much, and you'll probably hate me afterwards."

"Oh, no." Lifting his head, Scorpius looks at his face in horror. "They didn't kick you out, did they? Please don't tell me that -"

"Not yet." Narrowing his eyes, Albus follows the footsteps of a girl shuffling absentmindedly around the corner, slowly walking toward the common room. His stomach jumps with nervousness. "I'd rather we talk about this somewhere else." He casts another glance in the girl's direction, and Scorpius turns to her as well.

Without another word, he takes Albus' hand to pull him along behind, and Albus lets him lead on without resistance. He feels a little too worn out to think of a good place for such a conversation anyway, for the Room of Requirement, so close to curfew, of course is out of the question. They arrive at the same time as the girl in front of the furrowed stone wall. Instead of letting her go first, Scorpius stands in front of it, calls out the password ( _ossuary_ ) and pushes through as soon as the gap is wide enough for him.

Still keeping a firm grip on his hand, he guides across the common room, blind to the glances of the other students as they roam. The high-backed chairs are all occupied, hardly anyone lingering outside on the castle grounds. Unusual for a Friday.

Assuming Scorpius would lead him to the dormitory, he looks expectantly down the hall, into the blackness beyond the flickering glow of the fire, but they continue on, to the shorter (and therefore brighter) hallway next to it.

"Do you want to talk to me in the loo or the shower?" asks Albus, his mouth pinched. Whatever Scorpius intends, he's not at all comfortable with it; in the toilet, the risk of being overheard would be far too high, and the damp, dingy anteroom of the showers doesn't fall into the category of places where he'd want to hold such a difficult conversation.

"I was thinking more of the shower. We both smell like a bunch of possums." A wry smile settles on Scorpius' face. "Unless you think it's a good idea to be recognized by the smell before you enter the room." Briskly, he pushes open the door, lets go of Albus' hand, and walks inside without waiting for a response.

After all, Scorpius gave him a choice. He could turn his back on this dank, germ-infested limbo and throw himself into bed, marking it with his possum-scent. Albus smiles wryly as the hairs on the back of his neck seem to stand up in disgust. He of all people!

Without another thought to the alternative, which really isn't one, he pushes open the door. Scorpius, who is folding his shirt to lay it neatly on the bench, turns to him and throws him a distracted smile. "Even if I'm about to hate you, in the meantime, we can make the best of it."

Shivering, he wraps his arms around his bare chest. All at once he seems so defenseless that Albus, without thinking, overcomes the distance and takes him in his arms. It is a brief moment of peace, and the warm skin under his fingers seems so comforting that he almost forgets what has happened.

"This is all making me really nervous, Al," Scorpius says quietly. "Earlier, when I came into the common room, Fisher was just telling me that he'd been searched by a teacher. I guess something was stolen. And then you come and -"

A stitch goes through his stomach, and Albus sighs in surrender. "I did it," he admits in a hushed voice. His pulse is beating so hard and fast he can feel it in his gums, and when Scorpius flinches, he lets go of him, nervous and throbbing, and takes a step backward. "I stole it, but Professor Longbottom merely saved me from my father. I wasn't searched. Still, whichever way I turn it, I can only hide the ring or give it back."

In the end, the answer he gave Scorpius is only slightly better than the one he pictured out in the hallway.

"The ring?" Confused, Scorpius stares at him. " _My_ ring, by any chance?"

Without looking at Scorpius, Albus reaches into his trouser pocket and pulls out the trinket. He opens his palm, where it rests in a rich, pink glow, seemingly perfectly harmless. "I took it from Professor Nygaard's classroom after I learned of my parents' divorce. Somehow I thought it would be a help to us. You know, because you wanted to do everything you could to not fail just like our parents. I guess I just wanted to do everything too, and that's why -"

A sudden movement at the edge of his vision makes him look up from the ring on his palm. Scorpius has put his hand over his mouth, but there is no shocked expression on his face, no, rather he seems exhilarated. Fascinated, Albus watches the glow of his cheeks and the blur of gray in his eyes, wondering if his boyfriend understood what he had just told him. It wouldn't be the first time he's misunderstood, and he's about to inquire when Scorpius sighs affectedly. "You stole something, _especially for me_ ," he murmurs. "No one has ever done anything so romantic for me. You took the risk of getting caught and - wow."

Stunned, Albus shakes his head, as if that might help him understand why everyone in the world thinks such a thing is romantic. Of course, Scorpius' reaction to his confession is far from the disappointment he was dreading, and it relieves him, but suddenly, in the admiration that drips from Scorpius' gaze the ring feels like a dead, almost crushing weight, and he lets it slide back into his pocket without regret.

"Yes, I am a talented, stone-cold robber. Go figure, I even snatched it while my mom was around. But I don't think you get what I was trying to say."

For a moment, Scorpius turns away to sit on the bench and kick off his shoes. He takes the time to line them up neatly side by side before looking back up at Albus. By now, the rapt look in his eyes has faded. "Yes, what was that about your father?"

"He was here, straight up believing - without even talking to me - that I took the ring. Professor Longbottom said he was pretty upset, and that's why he gave me a heads up. So I could avoid him." As Albus slips the sweater over his head, he carelessly tosses it on the bench next to Scorpius.

For only a second, Scorpius looks at the shapeless pile piqued, as if pondering whether the mess bothers him enough to trouble picking it up. Instead, he turns to his socks, takes them off, and carelessly stuffs them into his shoes. Apparently sloppiness is contagious, Albus' thoughts run.

"Good man, the professor, I must admit. At least someone who does something right for once," Scorpius mutters, snorting. "I mean, sorry, but your dad really is an arse."

"You don't have to apologize for that. It's not like I'm not happy that you're on my side." He smiles weakly, then adds, "By the way, the good man is my godfather, as I found out earlier."

"That ... Wow. That's great, isn't it?" Uncertain, Scorpius looks at him, seems to search his face for some emotion. He feels as if he doesn't understand why he isn't bustling around dancing with joy. "A bit sudden, as usual, but actually this is good news after all the drama."

"Sort of," Albus says, shrugging his shoulders. Maybe he'll be happy once he's digested the news. Maybe he'll go over to Professor Longbottom's house sometime in the afternoon and sip tea with him while sticking his pinkie out, addressing him as Neville, and feeling so happy and accepted that it would make him want to puke if he didn't fall into a sugar coma first. The corners of his mouth twitch as he pushes the thought far away. "Right now, I'd rather focus on my hatred towards my father. At least there I know what to expect."

Actually, Albus doesn't know any of that, but it feels good to pretend. Scorpius grimaces. "Father's having trouble with him, too. As always." Sighing, he stands up and looks openly at Albus. "Listen, if you have to give the ring back, do it. The price would just be too high for me, Al. I love your gesture, and it tells me a lot, but it's not worth getting ... expelled from school or detention forever for."

"Well, it's yours. If you want to trade it for our future, I'll give it back." A genuine smile breaks out on his numb face. "But you must never tell anyone about it. Only you and I and the teachers know that it's a ring."

Scorpius rolls his eyes. "Really? At that, I was actually going to run straight to Fisher and tell him without putting anything on first."

"What a bummer."

At first they look at each other for a moment, then both start laughing at the same time. It's a nice moment, primed by the honest conversation between them that has calmed his nerves. Although the sight burns in his chest, he looks closely at Scorpius' dimples, the curve of the corners of his mouth, the long lashes, and suddenly the thought occurs to him that he must find some way to treasure it, whatever it might cost him.

* * *

"You don't have to come if you don't want to."

Clean and in fresh clothes, Albus stands with Scorpius in front of the emerald green curtain on the stone wall that leads out into the castle. By now the common room has emptied, with only a few older students still sitting in front of the fire or hunched over some books at the tables. No one is paying attention to them.

Scorpius looks at him blankly. "There's no way I'm leaving you alone right now. If you want to hand over the ring personally, I'll be there. Solely in case there is a penalty after all. In that case, we can just refuse to admit who really did it."

Though he's obviously trying hard to hide it from Albus, he's sure there's something going on in Scorpius that he doesn't seem to want to talk about. As they silently leave the common room behind and creep through the dark hallways, he tries to make sense of this sudden change in mood. Before they took their showers, everything was fine, he's sure, but while they were lathering up, something must have gone wrong.

He himself was very embarrassed, but this is related to what is bothering Scorpius; the sight of his lover, brazenly standing in front of him, covered with slowly dripping foam, excited him to such an extent that he would have been ready for anything. But Scorpius, who is usually the one to embarrass him with his comments about sex (and had even proven it earlier that day), preferred to pretend he hadn't noticed Albus' throbbing erection. Every now and then Scorpius has thrown him a weak smile, as if to reassure him that it has nothing to do with him, but that's all it's been, and it's just not enough for him.

He would love to stop and ask Scorpius what's wrong with _him_ , for a change. What keeps him from doing so is the doubt of whether he can voice his concern without pressuring him, because after all, he knows himself how stressful such behavior can be.

Despite everything, Albus can't push aside the feeling that all this not only has something to do with him, but that he is the reason for it.

The grand staircase lies deserted before them, ghostly almost, eerily set off by the silver light of the moon. If they were caught now, Albus would have a lot of explaining to do with the ring in his pocket, but perhaps what Professor Longbottom told him was true. That the teachers would not be interested in punishment. In that case, they can be glad that he wants to deliver the ring personally, no matter what time, Albus thinks, before walking up to the second floor, with the strangely uninvolved Scorpius in tow.

Once there, he turns left, where the quarters of several teachers can be found, behind the classrooms for Muggle Studies, History of Magic, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Wordlessly, they walk down a long hallway lined with portraits of famous wizards and witches. Seemingly unconcerned by their appraising glances, Scorpius stalks along beside him, but Albus sees the quiet accusation in their eyes, and when he averts his gaze, he can sense it.

The portraits have moved past the whispering and have long known that it was him, and that he is going to turn himself in passes through his mind as a nervous itch moves over his body.

The classrooms lie behind them, and now he has to find Professor Longbottom's private rooms. He knows it must be here somewhere, but as he looks at a series of indistinguishable doors with no nameplate on them or anything else to reveal who lives behind them, his courage fails him.

"No good deed goes unpunished," he growls. "I'm sorry I put you in this position. I thought -"

At that moment, Scorpius wordlessly pokes him in the side to draw his attention to a door at the end of the corridor that has just opened. Warm light pours into the darkness, and none other than Professor Longbottom stands in the doorway, looking over at them with a stony face.

"Better come in quick, boys. Apparently there's trouble afoot." He seems to glance past them. "Hurry up!"

Nervously, Albus starts to move. Whatever Professor Longbottom meant, he is much more interested in whether he will pass Albus' test and earn his trust.


	22. How to gain doubts

No sooner have they stumbled in than Professor Longbottom slams the door behind them. They are standing in a kind of salon that has all the charm of a doctor's waiting room. White walls, white blinds, white furniture. The fact that the upholstery of the bench under the window is padded in a dark shade that Albus can't determine is probably meant to lighten the dreariness a bit, but he finds it even more depressing.

The room doesn't quite fit his professor. Albus would have expected a few plants or at least a cactus on the windowsill.

With long strides, Professor Longbottom approaches the desk (cheap and made of pressed white chipboard, just like the one in Albus' room in Godric's Hollow), apparently folding something. Only now does Albus notice that he's swapped his baggy teacher's robes for a black shirt and well-fitting jeans. It looks odd, and he suddenly feels like an intruder.

"I'm afraid we won't have time to talk about your nocturnal excursion for a while," he says tensely, hiding the folded paper behind his back. "Harry is on his way here. I'd be surprised if he'd calmed down by now."

The situation had taken on grotesque overtones before, but now Albus begins to feel as though he's stumbling through a dream. After a day like this, he doesn't have the nerve to deal with his father. Most certainly he would say or do something that would turn Harry back into the monster he has been for Albus for so long - if it is not already too late for such concerns. Even Scorpius can no longer bury the horror beneath his unfamiliar callous mask and stares desperately over at Professor Longbottom.

"Is there somewhere we can hide?" he whispers, as if fear has wrapped itself around his vocal cords.

"Oh, damn!" Professor Longbottom walks toward the door behind his desk. He then looks at them promptly as he holds the door open for them. "This is highly inappropriate, of course, but I trust you won't tell anyone."

Scorpius has passed him by and disappeared into the room so quickly that Albus could swear he was more afraid of Harry than he himself was. Frowning, he follows him into a bedroom that, unlike the waiting room, has a warm, cozy feel to it. Next to the bed is a deep wooden dresser, on it several stacks of books and the cactus that Albus had missed earlier. A huge, magical palm tree on the wall rustles its leaves as he glances at it, and a lively fire cracks in the fireplace. The contrast is so great that it causes Albus to feel slightly giddy.

"Albus ..." He turns to Professor Longbottom, who is still standing in the doorway. Now he is handing him something that looks suspiciously like the Marauder's Map, which he had thought was securely hidden in the Room of Requirement. During their conversation he did not pay attention to it, and the teacher must have taken advantage of his confusion to _borrow_ the map without permission. He opens his mouth to complain as Professor Longbottom continues. "Maybe I'm wrong, but I don't think I need it anymore. Besides, I'd be rather uncomfortable if Harry happened to find it here with me."

"Great, thanks a lot," Albus growls and snorts. Indignantly, he snatches the card out of Professor Longbottom's hands and demonstratively slides it behind the elastic waistband of his trousers, right in front of the professor's eyes. The parchment nestles coolly against his stomach. It does him good to put his indignation into words on the spot. One less uncertainty in his life can't hurt, so he adds, "May I suggest that next time you might ask before borrowing anything from me? I'd be much obliged."

Instead of looking angry or embarrassed, Professor Longbottom grins and replies, "Oh, I _knew_ I forgot something. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some ... cleaning up to do before Harry gets here. Knowing him, he won't bother knocking and waiting for me to let him in." Without giving them another look, he turns and closes the door behind him.

Feeling in desperate need of a break, Albus closes his eyes for a moment. The soft crackling of the flames mingles in the background with the thud of heavy footsteps on wooden floorboards and the soft rustling of the palm tree. The unfamiliar smell of a foreign bedroom penetrates his nose unhindered and pushes him deeper into the surrealness of this moment.

If he manages to hang on, get rid of the ring without further incident, and perhaps get behind the secret of Scorpius' strange behavior, he would have eliminated all immediate threats. Then he could finally lie down in bed, happy and content, with Scorpius by his side, to sleep through at least one whole night.

"I could be wrong, but that just sounded like our good man possesses illegal objects. I would never have thought him capable of that. And then for him to steal from you...what was that all about?" murmurs Scorpius beside him.

As if to compensate him for his previous callousness, he has given his voice a gentle tone, and he puts his hand on Albus' arm. He lets it rest there for a second before gently brushing it along his stomach to reach for the map. How inconspicuous. Albus lets him do as he likes, grinning mischievously as Scorpius unfolds the map and looks disappointedly at the blank pages.

"It's just an old, yellowed piece of parchment, isn't it? But -" The grin curdles into a sly smile as Albus pulls his wand from his pocket and taps its tip on the map in Scorpius' hands. " _I solemnly swear that I am up to no good_ ," he whispers, in what he hopes is an appropriately mysterious tone. As the lines spread out on the map, he relishes the surprise in Scorpius' features, the widened eyes, the open mouth. It's like a reminder of himself, back when he first saw the map.

He waits for the joy that logically has to follow the realization of what this treasure is capable of revealing to one. As Scorpius' expression darkens, it seems like a discord in his chest, like a secluded, detached arm rotting in a spring meadow humming with life. Unsure, he leans over to take a closer look at the map. As expected, his father is on his way here; his dot has left the stairs in the entrance hall behind and is moving down the long corridor, at the end of which Albus' and Scorpius' dots can be seen.

Aside from this annoyance, he can't spot anything that could have troubled Scorpius. With a nervous tug in his stomach, he looks up and finds himself appraised by a penetrating gaze. "How long have you had that map?" asks Scorpius cuttingly. Albus stares at him. For the duration of a blink, the atmosphere around them seems to quake, until Scorpius looks away. "Did you ... While we were apart, did you see in that time how I ..."

"How you _what_?"

It's like he's slapped Albus right in the face. As the twitching in his stomach is gradually washed away by a wave of nausea and his pulse rushes in his ears, he watches Scorpius first squint and then turn his back on him.

Of course, Albus didn't see him do whatever. The thought of following Scorpius' steps without being able to see or touch him has kept him from so much as another peek at the map. Apparently, the fear of doing something terrible to his friend has distracted him from what Scorpius may be capable of.

His thoughts seem to melt and merge in the heat that spreads across his cheeks and sets his brain ablaze. And then it bubbles out of the steaming mass, an idea as unwelcome as it is impossible. Scorpius could not have cheated on him. Not here, not within those five days they'd been apart. He wouldn't do such a thing, and when would he have had the opportunity? Though he's not sure he'd want to know, he growls involuntarily, "What did you do, Scorpius?"

The only answer is a soft sniffle that is almost lost in the slam of a door and the thud of heavy footsteps from the adjoining room. If his father were just a little more restrained, he could have easily missed his snarling. The hammering of his heart and the long, anguished scream in his head would have simply drowned it out.

"You will take me to Albus instantly!"

Professor Longbottom's quiet reply is just an unintelligible hum.

"No, not this time, Neville!" A few seconds pass. Albus sees the man in his mind, his father, a great hero, standing there with his cheeks red in anger, his hands clenched into fists, panting to regain control. In fact, Albus has to take a shaky step, closer to the door, to understand what he says after.

" - did what you suggested. I've been running around like a madman, calming down, and now you're going to take me to my son, because after all, you hid him from me."

He is grateful for anything that permeates his despair, yet it keeps quivering in his chest. Instead of staring at the door, he turns his upper body to look at Scorpius, and what he sees staggers him. Scorpius has placed the map on the bed, undeleted of course, because he doesn't know the spell to deactivate it, after all, and is walking hesitantly toward him. Albus leans his forehead against the door, dizzy and perplexed.

"You can forget it the way you barged in here," Professor Longbottom counters just then. Still quiet, so the words are muffled through the wood, but they are sharper than before.

"This is not your decision! Albus is my child, and I need to talk to him. You can't keep him away from me." Perhaps Harry has forgotten what he did to Albus in a similar situation, for he sounds stunned, though the teacher's refusal must be logical even to his mind, almost consumed by rage.

"You know perfectly well that there are school rules against it. Look at the clock, Harry."

"And I don't think the curfew has any meaning whatsoever if my kid is stealing dark magical objects - that's punishable by law, and if you want me to get him out of there, I'll have to talk to him."

"Oh, is that what you want? Earlier you were talking about a punishment, if I remember correctly."

Suddenly Scorpius' hands are on his shoulder, as if to comfort him, to give him strength, but they don't give Albus strength, quite the contrary. They make his thoughts swirl, directing them away from his father, whose anger makes him seem ridiculous and small and somehow bearable, toward things he doesn't want in his head. Things like the fear of having been cheated. Or the knowledge of the demoralizing fact that, despite the clear feeling of having been betrayed, he doesn't have a single clue to that suspicion other than Scorpius' behavior.

Before he can shake off his hands, Scorpius leans his body against Albus' back, intensifying his reluctance, fear, and frustration, pushing him hopelessly against the unyielding door. He wishes he could have gotten angry, but instead he feels nothing at all, especially not the urge to fight it. He couldn't escape anyway.

On the other side of the door, his father groans in frustration. "This ... I don't want that anymore. I just want him to understand -"

"If you want to talk to him, maybe you should learn to listen to people more carefully first. Because then you'd realize that the item that's missing isn't dark magic."

"The headmistress alerted us to it," Harry replies, meekly, as if he could still somehow conjure up being in the right.

"Yes, she did. But that doesn't make the ring dark magic."

The corners of his mouth twitch as Albus realizes that he could have saved himself the trouble of flirting with Elizabeth if he knew beforehand that Professor Longbottom would reveal so unabashedly what kind of item it is - even though he knows full well that Albus might be eavesdropping.

"And what's all the fuss about then? Calling parents into the school, frisking every student, and finally, all this scaremongering... I take the search didn't turn up anything? And why the heck wasn't the Ministry ordered to do it?"

Filled with sudden, agonizing curiosity, Albus holds his breath and tries to focus on the adults' conversation, for he has been asking himself these same questions. What has happened becomes a background noise, a quiet, audible tugging in his chest, pushed aside by another urge. He simply has to know. Nonetheless, it's hard for him, because his chest feels like the constant doubt about Scorpius and the pain that comes with it have chafed it inside.

In the end, it would be worth it to pull himself together, Albus knows that at the latest after Professor Longbottom's answer, which, hesitantly ejected, lets him guess how much more has remained unsaid.

"You were there, after all, when parents were instructed to search their children's rooms for the ring. As for your beloved Ministry, as long as Professor Nygaard doesn't want to press charges, it's an incident within the school. Are you now going to come here with a whole staff of Aurors and shut down the school routine when there's a good chance that no one will be harmed and the ring will reappear?"

"If this ring is actually supposed to be dangerous, it would be the sensible thing to do. I just don't understand why you would want to take that risk."

There is a brief pause, during which Albus can feel Scorpius leaning heavily against him, then he hears a loud scraping. "If you sit down, I'll try to explain." First there is the pounding sound of heavy footsteps, then again the shifting of a chair.

"Fine. Now are you going to tell me what kind of ring it is that's so dangerous and yet not, by the way?" scoffs Harry. Without meaning to, Albus begins to admire his teacher's patience.

"I will, but first I need to know if there is any reason to suspect Albus other than that he is a Slytherin."

Hands tangled in the hem of his shirt, Albus closes his eyes. He vows to himself that whatever his father has to say on the subject, he won't let it get to him. Even Scorpius seems to be listening to the conversation, for he begins to squeeze his shoulders, massaging them gently.

"It's just a guess," Harry admits quietly. "He's ... not good at Defense Against the Dark Arts, and he sucks at flying, and I think I praised him far too rarely. I simply had no idea of the things he was good at. After my correspondence with Professor Nygaard, after I learned that he was good enough to become a Rune Master in the future, I thought ... Well, he certainly has a lot to prove, and maybe he wanted to show what he could do with this ring."

Despite his oath, the unfamiliar sound of this admission from his father's mouth pours into his chest without detour and triggers a sharp pain that tightens his jaw. So this is what drives him. If only he'd said it to his face instead of admitting his mistakes somewhere else, where Albus wouldn't have heard him under normal circumstances.

"Maybe it is like that, maybe it isn't. Still, I think it's too early to assume he did it, let alone have to punish him or protect him from the law," Professor Longbottom replies calmly.

At last, Scorpius stops massaging him. Instead, he pulls back enough for Albus to stand up straight again, then wraps his arms around his chest from behind, rests his forehead on his shoulder, and mumbles an "I'm sorry" into the brief moment of silence. An apology without further explanation, guilelessly rekindling the doubt.

_What the hell are you sorry for?_

When Professor Longbottom speaks again, after a moment's thought apparently, Albus tears himself away from Scorpius and presses against the door again, voluntarily this time, for he is beginning to feel as if his legs will give way at any moment.

"Before I let you in on any more details, I'd like to emphasize that the object was acquired legally and you don't need to approach with your Aurors. It is a binding ring and -"

"A binding ring?", Harry interrupts him, aghast, and Albus curses him with a wildly chugging heart for not simply letting the teacher finish. "That ... that's the whole story? Hold on, Neville. You've kept this from the other parents, while stressing how dangerous it is. So they wouldn't take it lightly? What other traits does it have?"

"I can't tell you exactly, especially not when you keep interrupting me."

"I'm sorry."

"What I know - and understand - is that it works differently than the engagement rings that are usually distributed. It has an ancient runic enchantment in it, and when active, the person wearing it would not have been able to take the ring off again. A good student could certainly reactivate the enchantment, according to Professor Nygaard."

"We have one of those in the ministry, too. I don't know much about them, but isn't there a way of getting rid of these binding rings as well? Surely some teacher could have taken the ring off the theoretical wearer again. It's unpleasant, sure, but there's something else behind it," Harry murmurs in a subdued tone.

"Now we come to the juicy part," Professor Longbottom replies. He seems to lower his voice, but Albus can still understand him well enough. "The previous wearer of the ring died while wearing it, but he didn't ... Well, he didn't stay dead for long, apparently."

"You can't be serious!" Harry blurts out, drowning out Albus's pulse, which is all at once rushing through his ears.

Professor Longbottom clears his throat laboriously before continuing. "If the ring is activated the creature may follow his binding magic and try to take it back."

Suddenly, Albus feels dizzy, and his stomach lurches as if he's about to fall off a cliff into the depths. Realization drives through him like a lightning bolt. If he had used that ring to bind with Scorpius, the latter would have been chased by some undead thing - and he wouldn't even have been able to take the damn thing off.

"Then why would anyone keep this thing in a school?" Another stirring of chairs as Harry apparently jumps to his feet. "I can't accept any of this, it should have been secured, at the very least, and -"

"It was. Believe me, it was secured, double and triple, the display case is covered with runes and the most powerful charms you can imagine. We checked it ourselves!"

"Then you won't mind if I take a look myself. It must have gotten out somehow, after all." The reproach that resonates in Harry's words is hard to miss, but if Professor Longbottom is offended or concerned, he doesn't let it show.

"All right, I'll accompany you there. Who knows, maybe the ring will turn up in the meantime," he says aloud.

Harry snorts. "I'd like your optimism."

When the door has slammed shut and the men's footsteps have faded, Albus exhales loudly. The tension that had kept him upright flows out of him with his breath, and sure enough, his legs give way. He drops to his knees, sliding his forehead down along the door, and if Scorpius hadn't crouched beside him and caught him, he would have toppled off to the side onto the floor.

It wouldn't have bothered him.

Scorpius presses Albus' head against his chest, leaning forward and cradling him as if he were holding a toddler seeking comfort from his mommy. "I'm sorry," he whispers again, quivering this time, his heart beating far too fast.

If Albus hadn't learned a minute ago that he'd nearly killed Scorpius with his damned love, he'd be bitching at him for his clumsiness and for not keeping his promise of mutual openness, now that they're finally alone.

But like that, he just numbly lets him rock back and forth until he's sure he won't throw up on Scorpius' silk shirt as soon as he opens his mouth. Then, when he does, a moment later he wishes he could take the words back.

"Did you cheat on me or not?"

The rocking stops as Scorpius abruptly flinches. "No, I didn't." The hands that have held him so far move away from his cool skin, making it clear to Albus that he must have hurt Scorpius with his carelessly expressed suspicion. "I admit that I should have told you much sooner, but ..."

The attempt to channel enough tension into his muscles to sit up succeeds more poorly than it should; though Albus manages to sit up on his own, the dizziness increases and he sways noticeably. "What are you talking about?" he mumbles. "Say it clearly already, and stop with these constant insinuations."

"I - Al, you don't look so good. Is everything ... Hey!" As he slumps head first against the door, Albus sees Scorpius' face contort in a blur. He leans over to him, fumbles with his hands on Albus' thighs, and just as he's going to ask him what that's all about, one of them slides into his right trouser pocket and pulls out the ring.

"Maybe we should get rid of that one first," he says grimly, taking a swing and throwing it to the other side of the room, where it bounces off the wall with a soft tinkle.

Blinking, Albus notes that his vision is slowly clearing. With a heavy tongue, he mutters, "Do you think the ring has -"

"There must be even more magic in that thing than everyone thought. You also heard that the box was supposed to have been locked. I don't assume your mother helped you with your heist, so -" Exhaling deeply and quivering, Scorpius clasped his hands in front of his chest. "It's possible it somehow sensed that you were going to give it back, and that's why it tried to stop you or something."

"Yes. Perhaps." Shuddering, Albus shifts around on his butt to lean back against the wall. He peers up to the ceiling, which has stopped spinning by now. "Anyway, when I took it, there was no trace of any protective spells."

Scorpius does not answer. They are silent for a while, until he says in a firm voice: "I have not cheated on you. I could never! It just ... went so badly, all of it. I was sick while we were separated, and I didn't spend the last nights at Hogwarts, but in a clinic. An orderly came to pick me up every night, very discreetly. I was just afraid you would have seen that and drawn any wrong conclusions from it."

At first, concern for his friend shoots boiling hot through him, but after all that went wrong that day, he's not surprised that there's still a doubt underneath that he can't shake off so easily. Part of him wants to jump up and confront Scorpius with his worry, force so many kisses on him that his lips get all raw, while the other, larger part, demands explanations. He grits his teeth, struggling for control.

"I'm all better now. Father just wanted to have what he called a comprehensive diagnostic. They ran thousands of stupid tests, only to have to admit at the end that they found nothing but some flu germs." Embarrassed, Scorpius raises his shoulders.

What he said sounds conclusive. Albus can well imagine that Mr. Malfoy would handle a disease in this way, if only to protect Scorpius from the gossip of his classmates. Still, something about the story bothers him. If only he could figure out what it is.

For now, Albus tries to push his suspicions aside. "And you couldn't just tell me that? You could have saved me a lot of trouble."

"Because you're accusing _me_ of cheating on you? You could have saved us both that by trusting me." At first he snorts, but then looks down at the ground, abashed. "Well, I don't want to criticize you. It's not your fault, but ... Things got so messed up today, and you were kind of always in the forefront. There just wasn't a time when we could have talked about me." He expresses himself carefully, as if he's afraid that Albus might blow his top at any moment.

A completely unfounded fear. Instead of protesting, Albus slumps down a few inches against the wall and puts his hands over his eyes. "Oh, boy," he groans. "I'm sorry, I really am, that this fucked-up family drama has come between us like this." His hands muffle his voice, but that's fine with him. Right now, he's having a hard time putting up with himself.

"It's not your fault, after all."

Yes, it kind of is, Albus thinks, but doesn't say it. If he hadn't stolen that ring, or at least given it right back, even if he'd created more open spaces for them like in the shower -

There it is again, the doubt. If Scorpius is telling the truth, why has he been so damn taciturn since they showered together? Why not before or after, but from that moment on? Something seems to be missing, some cog in the gears of this whole story doesn't fit.

His hands slide down from his face. Beneath his guilt, distrust throbs along in time with his heart like a shadow. Scorpius would have had plenty of time to talk about himself during the silence in the shower or on their way to Professor Longbottom's living quarters. The distrust in his chest seems to be lolling, curling in as if it had built a nest right there.

If Scorpius is telling the truth, why the hell won't he look into his eyes?


	23. Cloud-covered

He's been dead tired before lying down, but as soon as his head hits the pillow, Albus' eyes open with a gruesome finality. Now he lies in his bed at last, clean, under a fresh blanket that surrounds his body warmly like a shield of pure fluffiness, only to eventually fail because of his damned mind.

True, he has survived the day, in the wake of which he has regained Scorpius, suddenly left with a godfather and a father who clearly does not merely despise him. In the end, however, the suspicion regarding Scorpius' sincerity has bored into him like a shotgun blast, and he has only been able to dig fragments of the lead out of his wounds.

No, the fact that he can't sleep despite good conditions doesn't surprise him one bit.

Forcing his breath into a steady rhythm, he turns onto his side, punches his pillow, and presses his head back into it. Comfortable, but not enough. Uncontrollably, his thoughts start fluttering around, and one of them lands on Scorpius, who has looked to the floor, in a moment when Albus had hoped to somehow convince himself of his sincerity.

A sickness, then. Doubt, now fully reawakened, hums in his chest, and Albus tries to remember if Scorpius has seemed ill during their time apart. Unfocused, perhaps. Pale. Overtired. Just like himself. But so miserable that he had to be taken to a clinic in the evenings?

With a tug in his gut, he thinks of how they sat in silence across from each other just before Neville Longbottom, his damned godfather, came back. They'd both been worn out. Albus, because he was still dealing with the aftermath of the magic that had apparently rested in the ring. Scorpius, because he took the suspicion under which he had been placed so badly.

He remembers how the door had been opened, how they had blinked into the cold light of the salon, which had been too bright and dazzling in contrast to the warm glow of the fire. How, when asked why they had come here at all, they had both pointed simultaneously, in wordless agreement, to the ring that sparkled on the rug beside the dresser. To the relieved expression on Scorpius' face when his godfather merely bent over for it like a Muggle and tucked it into the breast pocket of his shirt without saying anything about it.

The walk back slipped past him. Neville accompanied them, waiting outside until they disappeared into the common room. Albus remembers turning around, swaying, and seeing the wall closing in behind him. He also remembers the liberated smile on his godfather's face as he patted his breast pocket, but how he then found the strength to stagger into the dormitory, strip off his pants, and climb into bed, he doesn't remember.

Now he lies here, awake, not knowing how he would ever be able to form a clear thought again. Doubt seems to crawl around in his chest like a caterpillar on the prowl, weaving inappropriate questions between the tough threads that bind and cut his brain. If Scorpius were to cheat, with whom would he do it?

It's ridiculous, and he basically realizes that. He's never seen Scorpius voluntarily talk to anyone but him, and so far he's always assumed that his boyfriend would rather be alone than share his life with people who clearly don't appreciate him, who don't like him, who don't want to get to know him -

_But that has already happened. He kissed James long after he began tormenting Scorpius_ , it hums between the threads. _Scorpius never said he wanted to be alone, because he never did. He's not as resilient as you are_.

Under his blanket, Albus begins to shiver. The doubt purrs contentedly.

_Oh, now look at you. You know it. You know full well that Scorpius is lying to you._

As if the threads had spun him in by now, as if they could see it, Albus shakes his head vehemently. He can feel his long hair getting tangled in the process, but he can't help it. It feels good, and he shakes his head until a sob breaks out of his mouth.

Scorpius told him. That he could never cheat on him. He sounded honest, and that has to be enough for him, he has to believe and trust him, because if he can't do it now, he'll never get a grip on it again. He has to resist those threads before they completely slice his brain.

Maybe Scorpius is actually lying or hiding something from him. Countless reasons could lie behind it, and any one of them is more likely than a mundane betrayal. Albus turns his head, pressing his nose, his mouth into the pillow until he can't breathe anymore. Inwardly, he roars against the strings, feeling them tremble and loosen their grip around him, around his brain, and finally, around his heart.

_I can forgive myself for letting him lie to me, but I could never forgive myself if Scorpius was really sick, maybe still is, and I didn't believe him._

Silence remains. Albus turns onto his back, stares at the bulge in the center of his canopy, and begins to breathe again. Nothing is left behind except the insistent suction that draws him toward Scorpius. At last, a familiar stirring.

He quietly gets up, pulls the curtain aside and walks past the beds of his classmates. The green balls of light, tiny under the ceiling, bathe the room in an eerie light - as though he were in an ancient temple. The corners of his mouth twitch as he imagines himself resolutely approaching his destination, the sacrificial altar, and presenting a unique offering to his god Scorpius: a fat, freshly killed caterpillar, its thick, red blood dripping down the threads that have finally pierced its own skin.

When he reaches Scorpius' bed, he doesn't ask or hesitate. He plunges his upper body through the gap in the curtain and crawls in, over Scorpius' legs, to squeeze himself between the boy and the wall.

Scorpius stares at him as if he had transformed into a snake right before his eyes. It takes a moment before he turns ponderously on his side without taking his eyes off Albus.

No one says anything; it would have been pointless. Albus moves closer. His words have worn thin, so he kisses what he would say onto Scorpius' skin instead. There are endless kisses, and he doesn't stop until he finally falls asleep.

* * *

The next day, a Saturday, they spend in bed.

They talk about all sorts of things, but skirt around the topics of the previous day generously, a silent agreement, and Albus is glad of it. He realizes that he would hurt Scorpius if he spoke too bluntly of his doubts. By now, he knows they stem from that dark core inside him, because he recognizes it in retrospect; the feeling of his chest being flooded with despair and occupied by something he can't defend against. It is the first time he has been able to repress it without extreme measures.

His friend may have wished he'd stop trying to control it, and despite Albus' frank words, he hasn't seemed to have understood that he may turn on Scorpius as well, in a different way than expected.

Albus knows better, which is why he will do everything he can not to lose himself again.

He listens as Scorpius, eyes shining, speaks of a masquerade ball he attended last year, and learns that his friend, despite all criticism, all reproaches, is reluctant to talk about himself even when he has time and leisure and a listener.

He takes the time to describe a lady's mask in great detail; how the living moths at its edge, dark red and golden, flapped their wings, and its shining dust always surrounded her, a mysterious goddess in an ancient legend. He speaks of a drink that emitted green fog that swept across the floor, rolling over the guests' feet, and of the soft, yet agitated, play of the violin.

He learns little of the mask that Scorpius wore.

Then Scorpius is silent. _Maybe he can't think of anything more to say that has nothing to do with him in particular_ , Albus thinks. Abruptly, he wonders if he is allowed to think such thoughts, or if they might lead to doubt. Suddenly uncomfortable, he closes his eyes to remind himself of what really matters: Just Scorpius and him, the two of them together, and nothing else. It feels like he's being manipulated - yet it's just himself and the truth.

At the end, as the evening dawns, they do not speak, nor are they silent. This is the moment when Albus senses most clearly that something has changed between them; as they kiss and cling to each other in the middle of the bed, suddenly Albus is the one tugging hungrily at Scorpius' lips. Whose hands eventually stop resting on Scorpius' hips and start kneading his tender butt. The inability to hold back strikes him inwardly, yet he cannot stop.

As Albus rubs against his body helplessly, Scorpius' hand rests on his cheek. He looks at him, and sometimes he fuels Albus' arousal with a slow, promising kiss before breaking away to continue staring at him.

His hand slides forward as he can't stand the uncertainty any longer. He shoves it between their bodies because he wants Scorpius to blush as much as he does. He wants him to gasp, to moan out abruptly, and not leave him alone in this embarrassment.

No sooner do Albus' fingers graze the boy's erection, a quiver goes through his body and the look in his gray eyes blurs - at last. But Scorpius grasps his wrist and pulls it away.

The moment shatters, and its raining shards are sharp enough to cut long-drawn cracks in his self-control.

* * *

When Albus leaves the dormitory behind to head off to the additional Ancient Runes class, he is relieved and frustrated in equal measure. It's not that he'd like to understand what's going on inside Scorpius, no, rather it seems essential to him. He may have successfully pushed his doubts away during the night, but how is he supposed to maintain a relationship when his boyfriend is struggling with something and won't even tell him the reason why Albus can't touch him?

On the stairs, he carelessly tramples past a group of students, one of whom he bumps into with his shoulder. A muttered curse accompanies him on his way up, and a sardonic grin spreads across his face.

Now he feels a little more like himself, and by the time he sits in his seat in the classroom at the latest, he will be able to relax completely. He will enjoy the lesson. Today, for the first time, the class will enchant a chalice, with glowing needles and a runic inscription of their own creation. As he thinks about it, he feels an excited tingle in his chest.

No Scorpius to fill his entire body with doubts until they ooze out of his mouth. No control to prevent this from happening. No damned ring to pollute his thoughts. Albus will focus on his own work, he will squeeze all his creativity out of his brain and present Professor Nygaard a goblet enchantment never seen before.

The thought fills him with joy, and actually he should have guessed by now at the latest that everything is about to go wrong.

While he is still walking along the corridor to the classroom for Ancient Runes, he realizes that he will have to postpone his elation to another day, because the door is locked and there are no students in the corridor waiting for the teacher.

Slowly, he moves closer and spots a small note on the door. In large, unadorned block letters, it announces that classes are cancelled until further notice. Albus clenches his fingers around the strap of his shoulder bag, while disappointment runs through him like a shiver.

He could have used a taste of success, besides the absolutely necessary short break from Scorpius and this cursed silence. For a while he stands there, staring at that stupid note, as if that could force it to disappear - as if that would do any good. Before he leaves, he gives the door a good kick, which hisses painfully through his toes like a bolt of lightning.

* * *

Greenhouse number 3 is brightly lit, and Albus can vaguely see Neville Longbottom tampering with some pots through the fogged glass. The fluffy yellow earmuffs he wears on his head are a warning to him, and for this reason he decides to stay outside.

Except for the chirping of a few birds and the rustling of the dense canopy of leaves from the Forbidden Forest's direction, it is quiet and peaceful on the castle grounds. On weekends, hardly anyone has a reason to make it down here, and the complete absence of other people settles like a balm on his worn nerves.

He watches the sun set in the distance while his godfather, just a few steps away from him, tends to the school's own Mandrakes without having noticed him.

Attempting to think of nothing, he eventually settles where he stands, on the well-worn dirt path between the greenhouses. Countless times shoes have trampled along it. No, he will not think now of how long he is going to scrub himself afterwards to remove all the germs from his skin layers. Taking a deep breath, Albus leans back until his elbows come to rest unprotected on the sandy dirt, then looks up at the sky, at orange clouds that stand out brighter against the dark red background and push across the sun like a massive eyelid.

It's been a long time since he's been outside, deliberately doing nothing. Lately, his life has been nothing but sorrow, stress, jealousy, and an urgent desire to find his true self again while he's been away from Scorpius. Now that it feels as if they will soon drift apart again, for good this time, and Scorpius has condemned him to miserable, paralyzing idleness, he begins to understand what he has been missing.

Without further ado, he straightens up to sling the bag over his shoulder. He tosses it behind him before lying down in the middle of the dirt, placing the back of his head on it as if it were a pillow. The edge of one of his books presses into his skull, and the corners of his mouth curl as he realizes how stupid he must look, but he's still going to lie here until night comes or until someone shoos him away.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next time he blinks, Neville is sitting next to him, looking up at the stars. The moon casts a bright glow on the castle grounds, and as his godfather takes a deep puff from a curly pipe, he recognizes the smile on his face in light of the smolder. Neville exhales a blast of smoke that paints him with the appearance of a peaceful, chubby dragon.

Surprised, Albus registers that he is not cold. He strokes his bare arms, feels the flicker of a warming spell, and sighs. Apparently everyone still thinks he needs to be mothered, but Albus decides not to dwell on it. His gaze remains fixed on Neville, who takes another puff, enriching the air with the smell of burnt herbs for a brief time.

"When I gave the ring back to Professor Nygaard, I told her I found it in the staff room," Neville finally says quietly before facing him. His expression is hard to interpret, and yet Albus thinks he senses benevolence in it.

"That's not why I'm here," Albus replies hastily, sitting up. His voice, which he has barely used this day, sounds raspy. "I wanted to talk to you." His heart thumps noticeably all of a sudden, though the man has given him no reason to doubt his willingness to help, and he wipes a strand of hair from his face. "But ... um. Thank you." Lurking, Albus stares at him, and he knows exactly why he feels so terribly nervous.

It's the first time he's asking someone else for help.

Smiling, Neville taps the contents of his pipe out on the floor. "Wouldn't you rather talk in the castle? It's quite uncomfortable here."

Only when Albus exhales does he realize he's been holding in his breath. He shakes his head. "Actually, I'd prefer to stay here as long as I can."

Neville doesn't say anything or look at him, which makes it significantly easier for Albus. If he'd said something like, "Shoot!" or "What's bothering you?" he would have immediately thought of a confession, a stale ritual from the Muggle world that he'd come to know and fear through the little television in his father's office. If he ever had to do something like that, he'd have to be arrested, Albus is sure.

"Is it ..." He falters. Suddenly, he feels terribly embarrassed by his request. It has already been difficult to admit his feelings in front of Scorpius, but in front of this man he barely knows, it seems downright impossible. Staring at the open laces of his sneaker, he sits there, then clears his throat and tries again. "Somehow I don't like myself anymore," he finally blurts out.

The words float between them for a few seconds before Neville gives him a sad glance. "I know that feeling. Did something happen to trigger it?"

Instinctively he wants to deny the question, but that doesn't feel right to him, so he runs it through his mind. A lot has happened, and at the same time nothing which is directly related to it, and everything traces back to Scorpius in some way.

How it happens, he doesn't know to say later. At first, there's just this lump in his throat that prevents him from speaking and swallowing. He tries to relax it somehow, but the thought of this stinking pile of crap his life has become has, to his horror, not sent him into either the paralyzing overload or the rage he's used to. Instead, he starts crying. Again.

Suddenly it all bursts out of him, though laced with a harsh tone of voice, but the damned tears on his cheek wouldn't even fool a troll, much less Neville, who listens to him silently.

"It's not Scorpius' fault. It wasn't even mine in the beginning. I thought if we got rid of James, everything would be okay." Albus sniffled, then burst into bitter laughter. "That worked, for a whole month, and then it all started again because that fucking Avery attached himself on _me_ , of all people, with his stupid kin! On me! I should have kicked his ass right then and there, it would have saved me having to deal with his damn brother."

He gives Neville a quick, tear-stained look. "That's our very own James, only a little less brutish, stupid, and proud," he explains, simply wiping the snot on the back of his hand.

"Then all of a sudden, once I got the problem with Fisher sorted out, it didn't work out with Scorpius and me anymore. I'd taken the ring because I thought we'd do better than our parents - Scorpius promised he'd try, and I wanted to contribute too, and now all of a sudden he's as mute as a fish, just staring at me and not wanting anything from me. Something must have happened at some point, but I have no idea what it is."

"That ... Is a lot," Neville mumbles as he unbuttons his cloak to rummage around in the inside pockets. Through the gap, Albus looks down at a ragged shirt that passes for casual wear for him, but would have earned him nothing but a snort from Mr. Malfoy, for instance. "So Scorpius isn't talking to you anymore."

"Well, he kind of does. He says he has been ill, but I," ashamed now not only to have admitted his doubts but to voice them, he turns his head away, "do not believe him." Upset, he gazes into the darkness between the trees of the Forbidden Forest. "I mean, Scorpius still talks to me, but he never says anything about himself, and somehow I think maybe he's afraid of revealing too much."

Neville's fingertips tap him lightly, and when he turns around again, he sees that he's holding out a small towel and has buttoned up his cloak again. "For your face." Instead of a thank you, Albus smiles weakly as he reaches out for it. "Has he lied to you before?"

The towel is fluffy-soft, like all the others at Hogwarts, and he unceremoniously pulls his legs to his chest, spreads it out on his knees, and then beds his face on it. In another situation, he might have loathed the thought of touching something another person wore on their body with his bare skin, but he doesn't regret it and closes his eyes. "He hasn't lied to me, as far as I know," he murmurs muffled into the dense fabric. "However, he's always kept all kinds of things from me. I just don't know how to believe him."

"Whether he's hiding anything from you, only Scorpius will be able to tell you. Well, I could confirm for you if he was sick. But that wouldn't help you, because it's not the real problem, is it?"

Even through the bouffant material of the towel, Albus perceives a new gush of herbal smoke. He can imagine that it is some special herb that helps one think, for it gives him a mysterious clarity. It's as if the smoke has nudged his thoughts to spin faster around themselves. Effortlessly, they form into an answer. "I'm sure I love him. But I don't love myself when I am with him."

Albus looks up. The expression on Neville's face is kind, through and through, despite the fact that he's just whined all over him and told him things he hasn't even allowed himself to think. At least not without a crushing sense of guilt, like last night. "Why is that?" he asks softly, taking another puff on the pipe and exhaling the smoke.

He doesn't blow on him directly, as if to give him a choice, but Albus stretches up and inhales deeply. By now his cheeks have dried, the despair inside him muted as if a storm had raged there, and only the debris left behind still nips and stings. This time, the realization builds up as he speaks.

"Being with Scorpius is like tiptoeing around eggshells," he says softly, looking up at the sky. The moon, which was shining so brightly earlier, is now obscured by a huge, dense cloud. "I'm constantly monitoring what I say and holding back so we don't argue. He's so ... apprehensive. And now I am, too. All the time."

They remain silent for a while. Out of the corner of his eye, Albus sees Neville glance over at him and leisurely take another puff. The smoke drifts up and dissipates somewhere above their heads. Then he sighs deeply. "Would you like my advice?"

"I think so."

"Of course, I don't want to suggest you be reckless, and I don't want you to break up with Scorpius. And the fact that trying to avoid the eggshells will make the whole thing worse, we don't even have to talk about that. But maybe think about the way you were when Scorpius fell in love with you."

A shaky laugh bursts from his mouth. "I _was_ reckless when we fell in love." Involuntarily, he thinks of all the sarcastic comments he couldn't help but utter, of their mutual teasing, and of how they were laughing at it together. By this time he has begun to worry about the darkness in his chest, but he hasn't fought it as fiercely.

Neville smiles at him. "You could simply share all that we've talked about with him. Maybe it will hurt him, but you'll have to be able to live with that if you want to get back together. A relationship is supposed to contain genuine feelings, right?"

Now, Albus no longer has trouble returning the smile. The conversation has filled him with new confidence. After all the disappointments and grief, it does feel strange, as if it no longer quite fits him, but perhaps that too will change in the future, when he dares to say what is on his mind again.

However, when he attempts to ask Neville if he is speaking from experience, he ends up biting his tongue. That's a topic for another day. With renewed ease, he turns and reaches for his bag.

"Before you go, there's something I need to tell you."

Albus clutches the bag to his chest as if it could protect him from what he is about to hear. The tone of his godfather's voice and the words he has chosen make him suspect that it will not be pleasant at all.

"Harry took James back to school tonight."

Frozen, Albus remains seated, bag raised, waiting for the horror to rush through him. When nothing happens, he lowers his arms, watching the bag slide down his legs to the floor. He senses Neville watching him, expecting a reaction, so he shrugs. "So, did he straighten out?" he asks dryly.

"I haven't spoken to him. According to Harry, though, your brother knows very well that he can't afford another misstep." They look at each other, both controlled, as if holding back their disbelief in this regard. "You will let me know if he starts tormenting you again, won't you?"

"But only if I get to kick his butt first," Albus retorts, biting his lower lip to stifle the audacious laugh that suddenly seems to stretch out his chest.

"Just remember to make it look like self-defense first, please. And don't tell anyone I said that." Though Neville grins, he strokes his forehead perplexedly. "I'm your teacher, too, after all. By Merlin, that I still have to remind myself -"

Now Albus lets out the laugh, and he's surprised at how comfortable it feels.


	24. Devotion

When Albus climbs the stairs next to Neville and enters the castle through the gate, it is quiet and dark, so he hears Scorpius' footsteps before he can see him. He runs quickly, ignoring the joints in the floor tiles, and presses something bright to his chest with both hands. The torches on the walls ignite only gradually as he stops, panting, in front of them. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is sticking up a bit from his head, as if his hands have been constantly running through it, and confused, Albus realizes that he hasn't bothered to put on a change of clothes and swap his pajamas for something more dignified.

"I'm sorry, Professor Longbottom, I know I'm supposed to be in bed, but I've been terribly - " Scorpius interrupts himself to slouch forward, gasping.

"Worried," Albus finishes the sentence he started, rolling his eyes. It takes a slight effort to say the words that are running through his head. They don't sound nearly as sarcastic as he's used to, but it's a start, and even as he speaks, the tension in his stomach eases a tiny bit more. "If you had wanted to say that, though, it would indeed have been a big surprise."

His heart skips a beat when he sees the corners of Scorpius' mouth curl.

Neville clears his throat and puts on a stern face as they look at him. "And as if that weren't enough surprises, I must insist that the two of you make off to the dungeons. It's already past midnight." He points to the stairs behind the fireplaces. "Presently, if you please."

Silently, Albus regards his godfather for a moment. He may be a nice guy, both in class and in private, but he still has the option, perhaps even the duty, to give him a detention for misbehaving. Earlier, when they were loitering outside the greenhouse, Neville mentioned that he had to remind himself that he was Albus' teacher. The feeling is mutual, and Albus will probably have a little more difficulty with that as well, after such an intimate talk.

"Yes, of course, sir," Scorpius gasps. "Sorry about that, sir. We'll be going, then."

The moment he straightens up, Albus realizes it's the Marauder's Map he's clutching, and he glances over at Neville as the thought that he'd left it in his bedroom flashes through his mind. He's noticed it, too. He frowns, and for a second it looks like he wants to reprimand Scorpius for taking it without permission. But he just shakes his head, slowly, as if infinitely tired, and walks past them.

Arriving at the grand staircase, he turns once more. "Good night."

"Night," Albus replies, while Scorpius emits a much more polite, "Thank you. Good night to you, too."

Despite the late hour (and his godfather's rebuke), Albus merely trots over to the dungeon steps, then leans against the railing and stares into the darkness before him. The flames of the torches illuminate only a foot of the way down, beyond which lies a wall of blackness that will only be supplanted by a glow of fire when he takes a step closer. But the nervousness that makes his heart pound hastily has nothing to do with the eerie impressions that inevitably haunt him as he roams Hogwarts at night.

He turns halfway around and fixes Scorpius, who has come up behind him and is standing next to him, his light eyebrows drawn together in confusion. "We need to talk." Pleased, he notices that his voice sounds harsh. It comes out like an order, and he resists the urge to wipe his damp palms on his pants, lest he end up ruining the impression.

Wrinkling his nose, Scorpius juts his chin forward. "Oh, yeah, about your wild suspicions and irrational accusations?" he says challengingly. He's not quite as good at hiding his true feelings as Albus is, as he presses the Map tighter against his chest, and his knuckles stand out white beneath the ruddy tone of his skin.

If he were to claim that Scorpius' behavior doesn't annoy him, Albus would be lying to himself. In truth, his reaction stings him, and an unwelcome thought drifts through his skull. Did he really swallow all that crap so that Scorpius could pretend there still is nothing standing between them?

He feels his jaw tensing. "If you want to call it that, please," he replies grimly. "Then let's talk about the reason for my irrational accusations. I don't trust you anymore, Scorpius."

"As if I hadn't noticed," Scorpius suddenly hisses, turning to face him. "I'm not that stupid, thank you very much. Honestly, Albus? After everything you've managed to stir up lately, I wouldn't have expected _that_ from you." Anger has now turned his cheeks bright red, and with his tangled blond mop of hair and wrathful grimace, he reminds Albus of a Veela during a rage. "First you break up with me because you're so full of bullshit that you can't even think, then you blame me and disappear into your bed without another word, only to come crawling back in the end. If you can't stand by me and don't trust me anymore, then just stay away and spare me your whining."

The attempt to act like he did when they had just met, to perhaps shake his boyfriend up a bit in the process, clearly fails, but now Albus can no longer choke down his disappointment; it has become a large lump that seems to sit on the tip of his tongue, and he would inevitably choke on it.

"Why didn't you tell me right from the start that you were so weak and unable to live with the consequences of your own desires?" hisses Albus contemptuously, before giving his voice a whiny tone. " _Stop trying to control that thing, it's a part of you, it belongs to you!_ " Satisfied, he registers Scorpius' wrath-distorted grimace fade. "Well, so much for that."

For the duration of a blink, they look at each other before Scorpius lowers his gaze. His anger seems entirely spent; he chews on his trembling lower lip before the gray in his eyes blurs and tears drip down his cheek.

This is not what he had intended. Albus turns his head and stares strained into the darkness of the dungeons, ashamed of himself and horrified at the turn this argument has taken. Despite all his good intentions, he has not only been reckless, but a mocking, spiteful monster.

He has acted exactly like Scorpius.

"Give me back my Map," he snaps. He didn't mean to make Scorpius cry, but if he doesn't get past this failed attempt of a debate soon, he'll probably start crying, too. He's fed up with that by now, more than anything else.

Next to him, Scorpius gasps as if Albus' demand outrages him, as if he has the right to feel that way after everything he's just thrown at him, and in response, his hands clench into fists. "What, no! Albus, please - I didn't -"

Jerkily, he spins around to face Scorpius. His cheeks glisten wetly in the glow of the torches. Because he makes no move to hand Albus his map, he tries one more time. "Give me my Map now, so I can finally spare you my whining," he says, attempting to be gentle. "If it makes you feel better, I also promise to never come crawling back." As he tries to swallow his pain and smile, he fails miserably. Feeling that he can't pull up the corners of his mouth, it turns into a snarl.

As if all this were not enough, Scorpius backs away from him, his tear-stained eyes wide. "Please don't," he whispers, trembling. For a terrible second, he looks as if he's afraid of Albus punching him in the face. As he takes another step back, his gaze fixed on Albus' fists; but then he mutters, "I didn't mean it - I was glad when you came to me last night! I'm sorry for being so disgusting just now."

Albus restrains himself from walking over to Scorpius and just snatching the map out of his arms, because then the boy would most definitely be afraid of him, and he couldn't bear that on top of everything else. He is already fed up. His arms ache, his chest aches, everything about his body is under high tension, and the urgent desire to scrub the day off his skin until it gleams as red as Scorpius' seems overpowering.

Taking a deep breath, he tries to remember the peace and confidence he felt just a few minutes ago when he was able to express himself and get rid of his frustration. As is often the case, it's no use, and all he's left with is more frustration rumbling in his gut, heavy as lead. "Scorpius. I don't trust you anymore because I know you're hiding something from me. You get offended when I tell you that, and you don't want to talk to me. That makes me trust you even less. So why don't you just give me this Map now and we can move past this?"

"Are you breaking up with me?" replies Scorpius, all at once calm, almost composed, and its this fact that makes it so easy for Albus to answer him.

"Yes."

It's different from the last time. Instead of a shock, an unpredictable tremor, this separation feels like the setting of a dislocated joint. Almost unbearably painful, but he's prepared himself internally, and the knowledge that this too will soon be over keeps him going.

Numbly, he looks over at Scorpius, who stands motionless, staring into the void between them. "Give me another chance," he whispers. "If - if we could talk, if I told you everything, would you ... Where do you live? You're probably on the list and allowed to use the fireplace, right?"

Eyebrows pulled together, Albus clutches his hands into the hem of his shirt. His stomach bounces as a sickeningly hopeful stream runs down through it. "Why do you ask?"

When Scorpius finally looks at him, there is a powerful expression in his eyes that surprises Albus more than anything else that night. "Well, because my parents are on the mainland and - and our house is connected to the Floo Network. So you could floo to your house first, and then come to my house via the chimney at your place. Then we could talk in private."

"Just so I'm clear," Albus growls, ignoring the yearning thud of his heart, "you want me to spend the night at your house so we can finally have a frank conversation, yes?"

"And be absolutely undisturbed in the process," Scorpius adds tonelessly, nodding. "If, in return, you promise not to break up with me until you've heard everything."

In one fell swoop, so many things are going through his mind at once that Albus has trouble forming a clear thought. Scorpius' demand, along with the fear of whatever might necessitate such a promise, also releases a tender curiosity in him. At noon, he needed to know in order to stop questioning their relationship, but now he desires to know because Scorpius has been dwelling on it for so long that the secret is beginning to allure him.

"All right," he replies in a raspy voice, loosening his cramped hands. "Will you hand me the Map now so we don't get caught before then?"

As if the thought were new to him, Scorpius looks around, apprehensive, but still clinging onto the parchment. "I can take care of that, after all. At least I've had it all evening," he mumbles haltingly, and Albus realizes that Scorpius is afraid he would turn away the moment he reclaims his property.

"Fine," he snaps. "Suit yourself." Averting his eyes, he reaches for his bag and lets the clasp snap open with trembling hands. Excitement makes his movements blurry, so it takes him a while to fumble for his inkwell on the bottom, under some books, his useless rune pouch, and a few broken quills.

As he pulls it out, he notices Scorpius, who has unfolded the map in the meantime, looking at him with a doubtful glance. "What are you up to?" he asks quietly.

"You'll see in a minute. Just make sure no one is coming."

He closes his fingers tighter around the cool glass as he approaches the outer fireplace, which is just a few steps from the entrance to the dungeons. Agitation dampens his anxiety, and he moistens his dry lips with the tip of his tongue. He suddenly remembers standing here ages ago, listening to an outburst from his father, during which he accused Mr. Malfoy of being a pedophile. Now he is going to invade the man's house without him knowing, and if his heart wasn't pounding so hard, he would have laughed about it.

The tremor emanates from his chest, and when he uncaps the inkwell, it is shaken by it as well. Without thinking for long, Albus dips a finger directly into the ink. He takes a deep breath, then raises his hand and draws a lying V on the side panel of the fireplace. It takes him several tries before it's thick and strong enough for him to use it at all. Because he doesn't use heat to engrave the rune or even chisel it into the soapstone with rough force, he will be able to remove it completely when he returns, but at the same time he will have to activate it in a different way.

Teeth clenched in his lower lip, he screws the jar shut again before carelessly dropping it into his pocket. For a second, his gaze lingers on the drying ink that turns his finger black. With a furrowed brow, he retrieves his wand from his pocket and traces the rune with its tip. Concentrating on his intention - the opening of his path - he mumbles a single word as he does so. " _Kenaz_."

As the rune connects with his power and glows blue, he wipes the cold sweat from his brow. It's not an elaborate enchantment, not really, but the manual activation cost him more energy than a brand would have. Briefly, he closes his eyes to dispel the flicker of his vision, and when he opens them again, the glow of the rune has faded.

Feeling like he has achieved a small victory over enforced inaction, he turns around. Scorpius, the map opened in his hands, is reverently silent, as if he had been watching Albus perform some intricate ritual.

"Ladies first." With a half-smile, Albus points to the fireplace.

Scorpius rolls his eyes, but he can't seem to keep up the annoyed expression for long. The corners of his mouth lift barely noticeably. "I hate being called a lady," he mutters, then hesitantly moves closer. "What's happening now, anyway?"

"I've unlocked the fireplace so we can both travel directly to your house without a detour," Albus replies, glancing nervously over his shoulder. "It's working like all the others connected to the Floo Network now. So you have to tell it where you want to go."

Before reaching for the box of Floo powder, Scorpius neatly folds up the Marauder's Map and slides it behind his waistband. A little powder trickles from his hand as he hands the box to Albus. "You know, I actually liked just having to say my name. I mean, that was real service, wasn't it?" he babbles, then climbs awkwardly into the fireplace. "You'll come after me, you promise?"

"Yes."

Scorpius opens his hand with the powder, and emerald flames shoot up at his feet. "Malfoy Cabin," he says in a firm voice, and disappears.

The sudden silence in the Entrance Hall sends a shiver down his spine. With his heart pounding excitedly, Albus reaches into the ornate box and takes out a pinch of Floo powder before sliding it back onto the mantelpiece. Without thinking about what awaits him at Scorpius' home, he trips over the grate, tosses the powder to the ground, and croaks out "Malfoy Cabin" as the flames rise.

When the violent spinning begins, he grits his teeth and tenses his arms close to his body so he doesn't bump into anything. Half the world seems to fly past him, and his stomach jerks uncomfortably, almost thinking he's going to throw up, when he finally spots the cutout of a bright room where a boy with shiny golden hair is kneeling in the middle. He doubles over and falls out of the fireplace into Scorpius' arms, covered all over in soot, his stomach cramping with nausea.

Albus hates traveling with Floo powder.

* * *

It takes a while for his giddiness to fade, and all the while he clings to Scorpius, his jaw clenched, staring at expensive-looking armchairs with intricate embroidery on the shiny covers, wrinkling his nose. _If I puke on one of those, Mr. Malfoy would thank me_ , shoots through his head.

"I've heard before that people who don't fly regularly have an even harder time taking a Floo trip like that," Scorpius mutters, brushing Albus' hair out of his face as if he considers the immediate risk of sullying his furniture to be a minor one. "You're all pale, you know." Maybe he wouldn't care, though. Maybe he'd just wave his wand and get rid of his accident without comment. Albus breathes more calmly.

The smell of fresh wood lingers in the air; underneath, Albus can faintly make out the flowery perfume that stuck to Scorpius' letter and his father's diary in much stronger concentration.

A painful jolt goes through his chest, and Albus straightens up. He's not here to cuddle with Scorpius, but to try and fix what he can. Letting his gaze wander, he lifts his chin and looks at an ostentatious chandelier directly above them on the ceiling, dispersing dim light around the room.

"I don't really think you cheated on me," he begins. It's as good a start as any he can think of, so he looks at Scorpius and tries to give his voice a calm tone. "It's just the first thing that came to mind when you dropped that remark about whether I'd seen you do something."

Lost in thought, Scorpius knocks some soot off his white pajama top. "Well, I understand that. That's why I explained to you what was going on." His gaze is fixed on his lap, but he sounds sincere. At least.

"Still, there's something wrong with it."

Without lifting his chin, Scorpius looks up. The last time Albus voiced his suspicions, he reacted hurt, but now he merely sighs in resignation.

After he doesn't make any effort to say anything in response, Albus raises his voice. "I'm just ... unsettled, Scorp, and it's not only because you're hiding something from me, but also - I don't know how to say this without sounding like an ass."

"Just do it," Scorpius mutters. "That's what we're here for."

Filled with a tentativeness entirely unknown to him, Albus averts his eyes as his cheeks begin to glow. "Damn it!" he curses, pulse rushing loudly in his ears. "I love you, you know that? And you said you loved me, so I thought we'd - we'd _keep going_. Somehow." He squints his eyes as he hears Scorpius' choked sob. "So when you didn't even look at me in the shower, and then afterwards acted like I'd done something wrong, I was just totally -"

"I wish I could say something less cliché, but ... It really isn't you." Scorpius groans in frustration, and when he continues to speak, it sounds muffled, as if he's holding his hands in front of his mouth. But Albus doesn't look up, pressing his eyelids tightly shut as if he could douse the burning in his face that way. "Did you just say you wanted to bang me?"

"Do you really need to make me say it again?" growls Albus, as the flames seem to creep into the neckline of his shirt, already engulfing his neck. He probably looks like Scorpius by now, with his glowing skin showing off his shame, but he won't peep. "All right. Yeah, I wanted to - to fuck you. In the shower, and also last night when we were lying in your bed and you pulled my hand away from your ... dick."

Maybe he was hoping Scorpius would chuckle before assuring him that he indeed wanted him, but just not in this shower of all places, where someone could have barged in at any time, because when he doesn't say or do anything, just leaves Albus sitting on this ridiculously thick carpet with his shame and squinted eyes, the disappointment would rob him of the desire of continuing to show consideration for this boy.

"What do you actually want from me, Scorpius? You want to be my boyfriend and be loved by me, and you demand that I trust you, but in return you have nothing for me -" With a jerk, he tears his eyes open, turns, and falls silent.

Scorpius has approached him unnoticed. He is naked, and though his skin glows with a familiar reddish glow, he stands composedly, as if it were perfectly normal for him to pose without clothes in front of the fireplace in the living room of his childhood home, while Albus looks away and sputters and is embarrassed.

By the time the bloodstream swells torrentially in his veins, a noticeable throbbing in his lap paralyzing his thoughts, his concerns, Scorpius' cock is erecting.

Of course, Albus has seen him naked before, and he has touched every inch of his body, but he never felt more attracted to him than he does right now. With a strange, dismayed arousal, he realizes that Scorpius is beautiful in a devastating way; that in his motionless posture lies an invitation; that the translucent, innocent smile on his full lips awakens a sinister desire in Albus to plunge into this body with everything at his disposal; with his teeth, his tongue, his fingers and -

He breathes haltingly as he pulls his shirt over his head, hastily returning his gaze to Scorpius, then comes to his knees. As he slides his fingers under the waistband of his pants and his shorts, he lets himself fall forward a bit until his forehead comes to rest on Scorpius' underbelly.

All of a sudden it seems unavoidable to open his mouth, so that the red tip of Scorpius' penis pokes in as if by accident, as he clumsily struggles out of his pants; it is equally unavoidable when it finally happens that he shuts his mouth as well, sliding his lips over his teeth so that he doesn't tear any wounds. Scorpius seems to hold his breath.

His tongue runs in sinuous motions over the shaft, which seems larger in his mouth than it did in his hand back then, almost too large to breathe past, but when his hands are free again, he places them on Scorpius' hips anyway, pulling him closer. He wants more of the salty taste that stirs some distant memory in him, for this moment no matter; he wants more of the deep moan emanating from Scorpius' mouth; and it seems so much more rewarding than what he could do to himself with his hands. If he were to stroke himself, it would be over far too quickly -

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees reddish fingers tense and relax again before settling on his head, stroking through his hair, clasping. As Albus begins to suck, attempting to cum just from the taste and feel of Scorpius in his mouth, the fingers tug at his hair, only to finally, barely a second later, jerk him away.

"Don't -" Scorpius gasps, and that's exactly what Albus is thinking as he tries to force himself past the hands to compensate for the feeling of the abrupt loss. At that moment, a tremor goes through Scorpius, a deep groan, somehow frustrated, and then his semen shoots out of him, in multiple loads, right into Albus' face.

"Oh, oh no, Albus, I didn't mean to!" cries Scorpius, dropping to his knees in front of Albus. Hands slide from his hair to his face, wiping cum from his cheeks. In that short time, the aghast, heated expression on Scorpius' face has not yet completely ousted the rapture in his eyes. Which is fortunate, because Albus is neither shocked nor disgusted, quite the opposite.

He knows he will do it again, until the smooth skin on Scorpius' penis is raw and sore.

"By Morgana, it all happened so fast! I was still trying to push you away-" Albus has no interest in Scorpius ruining this moment, so he leans forward and stops the flood of excuses with a salty, slippery kiss.

He's hungry for Scorpius and presses against him, so feverishly that he causes him to stumble. So it happens that Scorpius, under the power of his madness, leans backwards and separates their mouths for a horrifying, cold second. Albus can't let that happen, and he won't. He slides behind Scorpius, pressing him against an armchair with his own throbbing body, grabbing strands of full blond hair with both hands, and Scorpius gasps into his kiss as the wet tip of Albus' erection slides up along his belly.

Taking advantage of this moment, he slides his tongue into Scorpius' mouth. Again, there's the thought of continuing this game, sucking on his tongue until he comes without teasing his own penis, but of course he can't resist the urge to thrust, even if it's only against Scorpius' belly.

Their kiss seems to last for hours, hours during which he notices that Scorpius is hard again, even though Albus pulls at his hair, even though he presses so firmly against him that he almost can't breathe, and during his desperate thrusts he tries to position himself so that Scorpius' glans will inevitably enter him at some point.

When he notices that Scorpius has drawn one of his legs up, preventing him from doing so, he untangles his hand to push it away. "No, please -," Scorpius whimpers into his mouth.

The first thought to cross his mind is that Scorpius should shut his mouth, that he shouldn't even think of saying no, not now, since Albus needs him, must own him, but then something shifts inside him, and he pulls away from the soft lips with the vague feeling that he's ruined everything.

The shock lasts only a moment, and though it brutally drags him out of a fever dream, none of it is strong enough to shatter Albus' arousal. His gums throb at the same rate as his erection twitches, and he looks down in amazement at Scorpius' glowing face. There's a gleam in his eye, and the smile that makes his dimples appear is no longer innocent or cheeky, it's a wicked smirk that slips every time a mysterious rhythm makes his body shudder.

"I'm almost ready -" Scorpius mumbles out from tangled blond hair that sticks in wisps to his damp forehead, then closes his eyes and groans as another thrust goes through him. Before he turns around, Albus feels his groin contract in desire. He turns too quickly, too greedily, sliding sideways down to the ground.

Even as he catches himself, his gaze travels down Scorpius' arm, past his drawn thigh to his erection, spreading a wet trail through the blond frizzy hair. It tears at him, the urge to lean down toward it, but at the same time there is another desire, just as strong; that of watching Scorpius finger himself.

Fascinated, he observes the three fingers circling around the rosy, widened hole until they are driven in with a violent tug, all the way in, accompanied by a long, deep moan that quivers with such promise through Albus' body that now he, too, gasps. This time, as the fingers are pulled out again, they disappear from Albus' sight.

"Come on, Al," Scorpius whispers, lifting the other leg now as well. "Come."

Lured by Scorpius' soft voice and by the sight which wets his glans in drops of precum, he slides closer on his knees until they trap Scorpius' pelvis in their midst, and then a little more, and his penis presses against the hole. He draws in a sharp breath as the urge to thrust begins to take over. His fingers press into the flesh of Scorpius' thighs, straining in an effort to restrain himself as well as in sheer lust.

Trembling, he looks at Scorpius, whose smile has been wiped aside by tense anticipation and the teeth buried in his lip. He stares into Scorpius' face as he pushes his groin forward a tiny bit, and winces as his glans gets encased in hot tightness.

"Doesn't that ... hurt?" he gasps, but then can't wait for the answer. As if something stronger than himself is forcing him forward, he pushes inside Scorpius entirely as the heat burns his thoughts like dry leaves. It's effortless; the exertion of not cumming already as his cock drills into Scorpius is greater, and the muscles in his arms quiver as he slides his hands from his thighs to his hips to hold Scorpius in place so he can somehow get used to the overwhelming sensation.

Scorpius squirms under his hands. "You can't stop now," he murmurs, wetting the dry lips with the tip of his tongue, his hazy eyes fixed on Albus. "Fuck me already."

Though the rough sound of Scorpius' voice, his demand alone, increases Albus' arousal, he tentatively moves a tiny bit, causing his pulse to hammer furiously enough that his teeth chatter.

Again Scorpius tries to move his butt; to tease Albus into fucking him, but he can't allow it, not yet. He tries to find words that might convince Scorpius to wait it out, but they dry up on the way through his mouth, becoming moans.

Only a tense second later, Albus learns that it's no use, because Scorpius reaches forward with a glistening damp hand, reaches for his penis, and begins rubbing it with vigorous motions. It's too much; the sight of Scorpius arching his back, looking up at him with an unrestrained smile and a hungry gaze; the red glans pushing its way out of his fist, causing everything around Albus to contract.

It's too much, and he pulls back until he almost slides out, until the disappointment in Scorpius' expression rises, only to thrust back into him with all his might at that very moment. Pushing Scorpius' body upward with his groin, up the armchair, and when he once again slams into that irresistible, smoldering tightness, he perseveres.

Scorpius rolls his eyes as his hand whips up and down. He can't stop himself, not now, not ever. His gaze travels down from the flushed face, and as he drills into his boyfriend again, he sees his cock quiver under the impact of the thrust, feels how Scorpius starts to twitch around him, and from that moment on, the sequence of his thrusts becomes faster and more frantic, less deep, and as the pulse races fast and hard through his body, his cum shooting out of his trembling cock, he cums even before Scorpius does.

Albus slumps down. The roaring in his ears almost drowns out Scorpius' moans, and as he climaxes once more, this time spurting into his own face, his muscles tighten mercilessly around Albus' overstimulated, still hard member.

Flushed, they look at each other, both taking hasty breaths. The moment can't have lasted longer than the flap of a hummingbird's wings as a furtive, sinister smile spreads across Scorpius' face, seeming more like a distortion of reality to Albus than anything else that night.


End file.
